Boys Will Be Boys
by bloodredruby69
Summary: A group of adolescent boys, sent into the glade and left to find a way to survive. There's only so much they can learn on their own. In an attempt to minimize loss and do some damage control, a man is sent up to teach them a thing or two about survival. If he can survive himself, that is. Set approx 18 months before the start of the first book/movie. Rating will go up eventually.
1. First day

This is a little story that's been running around in my head for a while. Couple of things I should mention;

~I do not own any of the characters from the Maze Runner, the premise, nada. Just any oc's that pop up.

~Any song that happens to show up here is the sole property of the band/artist who wrote/created/performed it. I take no credit for anyone else's creations or brilliance, and any song lyrics that I use will be named and credited to the artist in the bottom comments. No infringement intended.

~The world is a mix of book and movie versions.

~To keep things on the up and up, I have adjusted the ages of the main characters up a hair. This story is set two years before the first book/movie, but the main characters (Newt, Alby, etc) are around about 15 or 16ish.

~I'm writing this on a boat-anchor kind of computer, and have no editing program. Apologies for spelling or grammatical errors.

~The rating on this story will be going up. It's going to get pretty dark, and have some heavy trigger warnings in later chapters. So that you know.

* * *

A harsh metallic screech and the ominous rumble, like thunder, broke the silence of the clear warm day. The gladers, recognizing the signs, simultaneously dropped whatever they were doing and ran to the box.

Something was coming up. Supplies, tools, a bit of food, weapons maybe. And fresh meat. Always fresh meat. A new face to add to the complement of boys already trapped in a little slice of green paradise. Paradise smack dab in the middle of a seemingly endless labyrinth of horrors.

Alby and Newt stood front and center, the rest of the boys gathered around in a loose circle. Together, they waited in silence until the box creaked and groaned into place, finally coming to a full stop. They shared a commiserating look, no words needed, and reached down to heave open the heavy, rusting grated doors of the box. It was time to welcome the newest arrival.

One never knew just how a new greenie would react to their abrupt and disturbing forced entrance into a new and terrifying world. A world where everything you were, everything you had, everything you've ever been has been taken from you. Even, for a while, your name. In time, the name would come back. Whoever had imprisoned them in this odd place of life or death had, apparently, deigned to leave them with that much.

The doors screamed as they were opened, a disturbingly alien cry in the peace of the glade. And then there was nothing; just silence. The two boys scanned the contents of the box. Barrels, rope, a couple of boxes. It looked like they had been sent some cloth, some salt, more gardening tools. A bit of wire, a couple of hammocks. And, just visible behind a crate of grain and flour, the legs of a prone figure.

Alby and Newt exchanged another glance; Newt shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time (nor the last) that a greenie had passed out on the trip up. Newt jumped down into the box, moving slowly, cautiously. It was always best to approach a new greenie as though they were a wounded animal; frightened and ready to lash out. More than one greenie had injured the helping hands extended to them before they could be calmed down enough to understand that the gladers were not the enemy. That they were all in this mess together.

The new arrival was slumped against the metal mesh of the far side of the box, legs straight out in front of his tallish form. His head was tilted back against the mesh, a wild thatch of wavy dark reddish brown hair falling over part of his angular face. Pale violet bags were etched deeply under his closed eyes. He looked decidedly the worse for wear; bandages with ominous rusty stains circled his throat and midway up his right thigh. His arms were stretched above his head, apparently holding him up in a semi-seated position, and appeared to be tied in place at the wrists with rough jute twine. Thin streams of blood had trickled down his forearms, drying into abstract patterns against the pale skin. He looked older than the usual greenies, at least 19 or 20. He also looked to be out cold. Or worse. Newt couldn't tell if he was even breathing.

Newt approached the man, less careful now that he had seen the restraint and the apparent lack of consciousness. He reached out and touched the jute restraints on the man`s wrists, then ducked a little lower and looked into his face. He held one finger under the man`s nose, holding his breath nervously. When he felt the telltale wisp of air over his skin, he exhaled in relief; the greenie was alive.

But why was he restrained? Why was he injured? They'd never been sent a wounded greenie before; everyone who had arrived in that cursed box had been hale and healthy, in at least decent shape physically. No one had ever been sent up in such an obviously damaged state.

"Have we got another fainter down there, Newt?" Alby called down to the blonde boy.

"Not exactly," replied Newt, "He's out cold, but...he's hand someone pound on him, and recently. He's barely breathing, and tied up like a pig down here. I need a knife or something to cut him loose."

Muttering rippled through the boys; no one had ever been sent up hurt, or restrained. This was unusual, and a little unnerving.

There was an echoing thump as Alby jumped down to join Newt in the box. Newt straightened and looked at his friend, seeing both the questions and the pity cross the darker boys face at the state of their new guest. Shaking his head, Alby took a gleaming hunting knife out of his belt.

"Well, let's get the poor bastard out of here. Introductions can wait." Alby sighed.

Nodding agreement, Newt stepped to the side so that Alby could have better access to the twine restraints on the man's wrists. Mindful of the knife's callous disregard for flesh, Alby carefully sawed through the twine as Newt held the man's hands in place. Tugging at the frayed cords, Alby tossed them aside until all were finally removed. Where the restraints had been, a band of angrily abraded red flesh was clearly visible on the pale wrists. As were the quarter inch heads of metal bolts that had been driven through the meat of the man's wrists and into a metal plate on the other side of the grated wall. The man had literally been pinned in place.

" ** _Slag me_** ," murmured Newt, disgusted. "What the bloody hell did they _**do**_ to this guy? _**Why**_?"

"I don't know," hissed Alby, "but we're not about to get any kind of answers until sleeping beauty wakes up. See if you can loosen that bolt any."

Both boys took a firm grasp on a bolt, both turned with all their might, but their fingers kept slipping off the slick metal heads. Try as they might, neither could find enough purchase to budge the bolts by even a hair. Finally, both admitted defeat.

" _ **Useless**_ ," Alby spat, swiping the back of his had across his forehead to clear the sweat that was dripping in his eyes, "Shucking things won't budge at all. And I don't think we have anything around here that will grip those weird squared off heads enough to get them to move. Looks like the only way to get him off these ugly bolts is to pull him off."

Newt winced. "You sure? The bloody bolts have a fair head on them. He's goin' to bleed like mad if we have to pull them through."

"It's the _ **only**_ way." Alby insisted, "He's already hurt. If we don't get him out of here and up to the top, I doubt he'll last the night. We'll have to take the chance. We move quick enough, get him patched up quick enough, maybe we don't have to bury him in the morning. Lean him forward, hold onto his head, support the arm at the shoulder. I'm going to pull the left first. Let's just hope he stays out for this. On three. **_One...two..._** "

Newt moved in closer, grimacing as he slid his hand down to the man's shoulder to hold it firm. Fervently hoping that this gruesome act would do more good than harm, he placed his hand on the side of the man's neck and tried to ease him forward. Hopefully it would all be over in an instant.

The man opened his eyes.

It all happened in a flash, just as Alby yelled " _ **Three!**_ " The man curled his body inwards and, quick as a snake, pulled his left leg up tight to his chest, lashing out with a hard strike to Newt's hip and knocking the boy into a wooden chest. Newt skidded back and went down like a sack of grain, stars exploding in his vision from viciously rapping his head on the floor of the box.

Alby pulled the left arm free.

The man arched his back violently against the wall of the box, head thumping back against the metal. Blood spattered in a shocking red rain as the man wrenched his arm free of Alby's grip, causing the stocky boy to stumble back, and curled it to his chest, his hand visibly trembling. He hadn't made one sound during the brutal act, his lips firmly closed. He breathed in ragged little puffs, harsh and loud in the sudden quiet.

" _ **Sod it!**_ " Newt exclaimed, rolling over and pushing himself up to his knees. "Looks like our friend's awake. Mite bit stronger than he looks, too."

Alby stepped over and offered a hand to his friend, pulling the blonde to his feet. For a moment, both stood in silence and stared at the wounded man, a wet red blotch from his bleeding wrist blossoming on his battered beige tshirt. Lifting his hands in front of him, palms out, Alby took a cautious step towards the man.

"Hey, take it easy. _**Take it easy**_. I know you're in pain, I know you're confused. We're not going to hurt you. I'm Alby, this is Newt. We're going to get you out of this box, get you fixed up. We're going to help you. _**Easy now**_. Can you tell me your name?" Alby spoke softly, calmly, keeping eye contact. He took a step forward, and another. Newt stayed where he was, warily watching as Alby approached the trapped man.

When Alby was almost within reach of the man, the guy cocked his head. His clear pale green eyes showed calculation, confusion and pain, but no fear. "Okay. That's _**okay**_. I know it hurts like hell," Alby spoke gently, "but the only way to get you out of here is to pull you free. If we can get your other arm free, we can get you out of this box, get you cleaned up. Okay? It'll only hurt for a minute, then we can help you. Just for a minute." He reached a hand out towards the man's right wrist slowly, gingerly.

The man whipped his left leg back up, planting his foot squarely in Alby's gut, stopping the boy's forward motion. He either didn't have the strength to shove Alby away, or that hadn't been his intention. Looking the boy right in the eye, the man gave a scant shake of his head, nudging him back a step with his foot before he slowly lowered his leg.

"We have to free your hand so that we can help you. _ **Let us help you**_." Alby implored. Again, the man gave that slight shake of the head. Alby sighed in frustration, and turned back to Newt, who was watching and waiting patiently.

"Let's give him a couple of minutes to think. He's not going anywhere at the moment. Get one of the med-jacks down here with some bandages, have them bind that wound up so that he doesn't bleed out on us, get some food and water in him. I'll work on getting these supplies hauled out and taken back to the homestead."

Nodding, Newt heaved himself up out of the box. He looked around at the curious and concerned faces of those still gathered around.

"Alright boys," he said, "you heard Alby. Jeff, get some bandages and whatever from the med-hut, we need to fix this guy up. Frypan? Any leftovers from breakfast? See what you can rustle up, would you? I'm off to find a spare water bottle. Builders? Start hauling the new supplies back as Alby hands 'em out. Everyone else, move along for now. There'll be plenty of time to gawk at the new greenie when work's done for the day. Off you go."

Newt strode off towards the homestead (and the extra supplies stocked there) as the crowd broke up and dispersed back to their various activities. A new greenie, one who came up in a seriously unusual way, was of great interest to everyone. There was still work to be done, though. The tomatoes were in desperate need of a good weeding, the thatching on multiple buildings needed to be repaired, there was meat to process and firewood to gather. Life, weird and painful though it was here, must go on.

* * *

If you feel like it, let me know what you think. Cha.

~Ruby


	2. No Words

**Author's note** ; I hope you enjoy. _  
_

* * *

 _There was still work to be done, though. The tomatoes were in desperate need of a good weeding, the thatching on multiple buildings needed to be repaired, there was meat to process and firewood to gather_

 _Life, weird and painful though it was here, must go on._

* * *

Rifling through the boxes of supplies in the homestead, it only took Newt a moment or two to put his hands on an unused plastic water bottle. Another moment to fill it at the water barrel outside the cook hut and he was off, headed back to the box, prepared to fulfill his duties and assist the new recruit. In the short time that he'd been gone, the box had already been emptied of supplies, which were stacked in neatly organized piles around the ugly square hole in the grass. A couple of the builders were rolling barrels towards the cook hut, Alby and another boy were muscling a large crate of something or other back towards the center of the glade. Frypan and Jeff weren't back yet, so as the others worked on stowing the supplies, Newt once again jumped down into the box, approaching the greenie in a slow but steady way.

The man had pulled his left leg up towards his chest, his free and injured arm resting across his knee. His head was once again leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. For a heartbeat Newt thought the man had truly passed out this time, until he got one step closer and those green eyes snapped open once more. _Still no fear_ , thought Newt, intrigued. _Mild confusion, curiosity, interest. But no fear._ Newt crouched down so he could look the man straight in the face.

"'Lo greenie. I'm Newt. How're you holding up?"

Silence.

"Alright then. Not feeling terribly chatty, eh? I know this is one big shucking mess, so we'll just take this slow for now. I'm going to come over there, sit by you for a bit. That alright?"

More silence, but this time there was the faintest hint of a twitch at the side of his mouth, just a breath of a shrug. Taking this as consent, Newt eased over to the man's left side, sliding his back down the grate until he was seated beside the guy, leaving about a foot of space between them. Newt was big on personal space. He held up the water bottle, tilting it from side to side so that the water sloshed audibly, then held it out in front of the man. "I bet you're dry as dust by now. Drink?"

Silence.

Looking over, Newt considered the mangled wrist, the still trembling hand. Weighing his options, he uncapped the bottle, moving it in a hesitant, questioning way towards the man's mouth himself. _Poor sod probably couldn't even hold it himself-_

A firm, no-nonsense grip on his wrist stopped his arm dead. Looking right at Newt, a deadpan expression on his face, the man pushed Newt's arm away.

"...alright then. Not thirsty at the moment. Got it."

He recapped the bottle, setting it aside for now. He figured the guy would have to give in to thirst sooner or later, and the day was already warm. He'd make sure it was available, when the guy was ready to accept it. Not quite sure what the proper thing to do next was, Newt was mildly relieved to hear another person clambering down into the box to join them. Glancing up, he nodded once to Jeff, pushing himself up to his feet and moving out of the way. Thinking of the guy's violent ( _and frankly, who could blame him?_ ) reaction to the last attempt to help him, Newt figured he should make some introductions.

"Jeff this," Newt gestured, "is our new greenie. He's been in the wars, and needs some patching up. Wrist especially, it's bleeding loads. Green Bean," Newt looked right at the man, making sure he understood that Newt was talking to him, "This is Jeff. He's a med-jack. He fixes up our cuts and burns and what-not. He's gonna bind up that wrist, fix you up a bit." The man quirked an eyebrow. "Please do **_try_** not to thwack him, Green Bean. He's just going to help you, honest." The man let a little puff of air out of his nose, lifted one shoulder. After a long moment of silence, a long stare between the battered man and the blonde boy, the man rolled his eyes, and held his arm out towards Jeff.

Jeff cast a nervous glance at Newt and, seeing the boy's encouraging nod, scooted forward and took a light grip on the offered appendage. He turned it over, looking carefully at the small but substantial hole on either side of the man's wrist. Opening the kit bag he had slung over his shoulder, Jeff took out a smallish bottle of some murky liquid, a small pot, and a handful of linen bandages. "Not gonna lie, this'll probably burn like hellfire." Jeff said, looking at the man for the first time. The man did that odd little shrug again. As Newt looked on, Jeff popped the lid on the bottle of liquid and splashed some quickly on the open wounds.

The man's face twitched, his nostrils flared, but he still made no sound. He watched in silence and with mild interest as Jeff used a scrap of bandage soaked in the acrid smelling liquid to clean most of the blood, dried and fresh, from the immediate area of the wounds. Opening the small pot, he stuck two fingers into a noxious looking sickly green paste, and smeared it liberally on both bleeding holes. Working quickly, Jeff tightly bound the wrist in a fresh piece of bandage, tying it securely. He then grabbed his gear and hurriedly stepped back.

"Anything else he needs looked at?" Jeff asked, glancing at the man, but looking to Newt for the answer.

"That was the major for now. We'll have to get his other arm off that bleedin' pike as soon as we can, and then he'll need the same again. I'm not quite sure..." Newt cut himself off as he noticed the man waving at him, trying to get his attention. He held up his hand, palm out, in an unmistakable gesture to stop, then held up his index finger. _Wait._

As the boys watched in mild confusion, the man reached his free arm up towards his captive limb. His unhindered fingers traced over his right hand, his wrist, the bolt protruding from his flesh. They could hear his breath coming in quick breathy pants. He closed his eyes, and gripped his pinned wrist with his left hand, holding his breath, furrowing his forehead.

" _ **Wait**_ ," Newt said quickly, stepping forward, "Don't panic. We'll get you off of there, Greenie, just hold on a-"

The muscles in the man's shoulders tightened like a fist as he ripped his other arm free of the bolt. Once again, blood flew through the air, a few droplets spattering on Newt's face, on Jeff's shirt, on their shoes. Shuddering, breath stuttering harshly, the man didn't move for a moment, just sat and visibly tried to compose himself. When he opened his eyes again, he lifted them to meet Jeff's, and holding his right wrist tight with his left, offered it to the boy, tilting his head. Newt executed an almost graceful turn and promptly lost his breakfast in the bottom of the box. While Jeff's stomach was made of slightly sterner stuff, he still had to swallow greasily a couple of times to keep his own gorge down. Ignoring the retching behind him, he stepped forward to do his job.

Newt laced his fingers through the metal wall of the box, supporting himself as his stomach lurched and heaved. Working with Alby to unpin the man's left wrist had left him sick to his stomach , but he hadn't really had to see what was going on; it all happened so fast. He was holding the guy, then he was on his face with his head singing, he didn't actually see Alby pull him off the first bolt. Seeing it this time, watching the flesh buckle and tear, feeling the warm drops on his face, he couldn't maintain. He coughed roughly, spitting out the last of the bile in his mouth. The taste was bloody awful. _He was a_ _ **runner**_ _, for pity sake, not a bleedin' med-jack or a slicer_. Blood and gore had never been his strong suit.  
A measure of composure regained, Newt turned back to the others. Jeff had finished cleaning and binding the fresh wound, and looked to be trying the convince the greenie to take some water. He started to pick up some of the mutters as the ringing in his head began to ease.

"...lost a lot of blood. You need to drink something, try to get some of your own back."

The slightest head shake.

"It's just water, nothing stronger. Not that we don't have something stronger around here, I could probably rustle up something with more bite to it, if you'd just take a bit of this first."

Another head shake.

"Aw come on, greenie, it's not like we pissed in it. Here, I'll take a swig first, you'll see. _It's just shucking water!_ "

Newt sighed at the one sided exchange. "Leave off him, Jeff," Newt advised, his voice a bit hoarse and scratchy from his recent attempt to throw up his stomach lining. "He'll have a go at it when he's ready. Right Greenie?" Taking the almost expected silence as a tactic agreement, Newt strode up to the man and offered his hand. "Well, ready to get out of here? Go on then, I'll give you a hand up and I'll show you-"

The man was shaking his head. _No_.

"Well, you can't bloody well just stay here, in the box. Come on now, I'll stick with you, give you the tou-"

The man held out a hand. _Stop_.

This silent treatment was really starting to irk Newt. The bloody git can't even be bothered to talk to me, how the hell am I supposed to convince him that it's safe to step outside of this ruddy box? Sorely tempted to give the guy a good solid boot in the ass and haul him out of the box by his hair, if he had to, Newt narrowed his eyes and studied that man carefully, considering his best options. His eyes landed on the almost forgotten swatch of stained bandages circling the man's neck. Suddenly, things made considerably more sense.

"Oi Greenie. You can't speak... _can you_?"

The man closed his eyes for a minute. He shook his head. _No_. This explained quite a bit. Certainly not everything, but there was time for the rest. Newt sighed heavily, shaking his own head. How were they ever going to form some kind of trust and understanding with this new comer if he couldn't voice his own thoughts and fears? Questions, revelations, even jokes? And how do you provide an answer if you're only guessing at the question?

With a gesture to Jeff, the boys stepped to the far side of the box. Newt was just thanking Jeff for his quick work and sending him on his way when Frypan finally poked his head over the opening above the box. "Sorry!," Frypan called, "I had to scrounge a bit, the boys ate me out of house and home this morning!" Frypan tossed a small canvas bag to Newt, which on a quick check contained a couple of rough rolls and an apple, then gave Jeff a helpful hand up onto the grass. The two walked back toward the small group of buildings, chatting back and forth.

Newt went back to where the greenie was still slumped against the wall. He held the bag out, offering it. "It's not fancy, but it's food. Here, Green Bean." The man made no move to sit up and reach for the food, showed no inclination to take the bag at all. Newt repressed the urge to snarl, barely, and simply went close enough to set the bag of food and the water bottle within easy reach. "I have some duties to see to, and as you're not terribly interested in taking a look at your new _home sweet home_ , I'm going to have to leave you here on your own for a bit. Take the time, have a nibble, drink some water. I'll come to check on you in a while." The guy gave his one shoulder shrug, eyes fixed firmly on Newt's face for a moment, then he simply laid his head back and, once more, closed his eyes. Trying not to get too terribly steamed at the obvious dismissal, Newt hefted himself out of the box. After a moment of debate, he pulled the doors of the box down, turning the thick metal lever and locking them in place from the outside.

At least he'd know where to find the bastard.

* * *

This story is slow to start, but we'll start getting to the meat in the next chapter or two.

R&R, if you so choose.

~Ruby


	3. Taking A Guess

Author's not _e ~_ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _After a moment of debate, he pulled the doors of the box down, turning the thick metal lever and locking them in place from the outside._

 _At least he'd know where to find the bastard._

* * *

Survival in the glade meant that there was always something that needed to be done. While each new recruit was designated a task once they had been evaluated for their personal merits and strengths, there was a lot of crossover. Washing laundry, chopping wood, fetching water and what not; while essential to every day life, no special aptitude was necessary to do these things. And everyone rotated, each given a day or two off from their normal job every week or so to lend a hand in the day to day upkeep of the glade. As well as to get some much desired free time. As Newt had the day free from his normal task of running the maze, he did his best to spread himself out a bit among the other boys. He helped the cooks stow and organize some of the newly arrived supplies, spent some time weeding, gathered some wood to add to the pile. The sun was just dipping behind the walls as he dumped his last load onto the wood pile. Swiping the sweat from his brow, he made his way back to the cook hut. He was bloody starving.

He scanned the faces around him as he waited in line with his bowl, trying to pick Alby out of the crowd. They really needed to talk about the new greenie, and decide exactly what they were going to do with him. They'd given him the better part of the day to himself, left him in the solitude of the box. Now it was time to try and pry him out of there, bring him topside. Put him to work.

Once he had his portion of today's dinner ( _Stew? I think it's stew today_.) Newt wandered through the benches occupied by ravenous boys shoveling down their food. Finally spotting his target leaning against a support post on the outskirts of the group, Newt sidled up beside him, leaning on the post as well, putting them shoulder to shoulder.

"Any progress with our new greenie?" Alby asked between bites.

" _ **Nnnnnnnghhh**_ ," Newt swallowed his own mouthful before trying again. "Not so much." He filled Alby in quickly as to the happenings after the leader had left, spitting it out as fast as he could before the retelling could sour his appetite. He could feel his stomach starting to churn again as he told of how the man had pulled himself free and stubbornly shoved another spoon full of food into his mouth. He'd lost a meal already today, he refused to lose another. By the time their bowls were empty, Alby had been fully caught up. The darker boy rubbed a hand over his face, across the back of his neck as he tried to think his way through the unique situation.

"So he just won't budge? And, you said he can't talk. What do we do with him?"

"Shuck if I know." Newt threw out, "There's lots of us and only one of him. We could get a couple others and haul him out, if it comes to it. As of right now, though, he's closed up tight in the box, safe and sound. He's uncooperative so far, so he'd just be spending the night in the pit anyway, yeah? I say leave him in the box tonight, see how tomorrow goes. I'll take him some food, see if I can convince him to come out of his hole. We'll take it as it goes. Feel like joinin' me?"

"I think I'll leave it to you. I'm the one who pulled him off the first bolt, he's probably not feeling too terribly friendly towards me at the moment."

Newt shrugged nonchalantly, straightening up from the post and heading back towards the food hut. He'd take some to the greenie, maybe snag a blanket for him. Little things, but maybe the little things would help to show the greenie that he needn't be afraid of the gladers. He'd learn in time that there were other, more horrible things to fear.

"Hey Newt?"

Newt turned, looking back as Alby stepped up to his side. The darker boy lowered his voice a bit, leaning in to speak for Newt's ears only.

" _Be careful,_ hey? You never know what a guy in this kind of situation is going to do. Have one of the other guys hang close enough to holler at, and," Alby pressed a hunting knife into Newt's hand, "take this. I'd rather you not need it, but... _just in case_." Alby gave Newt's shoulder a bolstering squeeze, then headed off, disappearing quickly into the crowd of loudly talking boys. Newt rolled his eyes a little, but stuck the knife through his belt. Just in case.

Darkness fell quickly in the glade, shadows rapidly over taking the woods and fields, turning green to gray to black. Walking briskly in the small circle of light cast from his lantern, a candle in a glass jar, Newt reached the box just as the first stars began to wink on. The builder he'd snagged to keep an ear on things, Dan, helped him to muscle open the lock bars on the doors, and to heft them up. Newt crouched down, peering into the shadows of the box.

"You awake down there greenie? Ready for a bit of company?"

Silence.

"Right, then. Coming in."

Newt hopped down into the cavity, Dan helpfully passing him the light, the bowl of food, the rough blanket Newt had managed to scrounge up. Considering his duties duly done, Dan wandered off a few steps and flopped on his back in the grass, close enough to hear a yell for help, not close enough to hear a normal conversation. The man greeted Newt with a casual two fingered salute from his position on the floor. Newt was really quite surprised to find the man in the same spot, slouching in the same position he had been when Newt had left him in the late morning. While he couldn't understand it, Newt didn't bother to ask - it's not as if he'd get an answer anyways. He held the bowl of food out in front of him.

"Brought you dinner."

Silence. Staring green eyes.

"It's not as bad as it looks, and it fills the hole."

Silence. Staring green eyes.

Sighing, Newt set the bowl down beside the greenie, lowering himself into a cross legged position in front of him. "Look, I know you can't talk, but this one sided conversation is getting a bit tedious, yeah? I'm not really sure how you can respond without words, but do try and have a go at it, would you? Otherwise, I feel like I'm talking to the _shucking wall_."

The man let out a little snort at that, lips curving upwards into a faint smile. Encouraged, Newt tried again.

"So, still not hungry. Got it. Still not ready to leave this bloody box?"

A head shake. _No_.

"Alright then. Do you know your name yet?"

The guy's eyebrows furrowed, he looked at Newt with confusion. He nodded his head in a way that left Newt with no doubt that the man found the question very odd indeed.

"Well, usually it takes a day or two before a new guy remembers his name. Just the way it is 'round here, fact of life. I'd rather call you yours than keep calling you greenie, but how'm I supposed to figure it out if you can't tell me?"

A full eye roll this time, and a motioning gesture. _Come on_.

"You want me to guess? Yeah, I can do that...let's try this." Newt held his right hand out to the man. After a long, considering stare, the man reached out and took it. His palm was a little calloused, and quite warm. "Tap my hand with your thumb for your answer, two for yes, one for no. Got it?"

-tap tap-

Newt grinned. Sitting in the soft glow of pale yellow light, he felt like they might actually be able to communicate.

"So, your name. Is it...Marty?"

-tap-

"Brian?"

-tap-

"Andrew?"

-tap-

"Well, I kind of doubt it's Mary..."

The guy squeezed Newt's hand roughly at the last guess. Newt winced a bit at the pressure, but couldn't stop the smirk that crossed his face. The guy looked decidedly amused himself at the poor joke. They sat together amiably, the skinny boy and the silent injured man, playing their rudimentary guessing game until the darkness of night lay thick over the glade. In the complete absence of other light, the two sitting face to face in the stingy glow of a single candle could have been the only two people left in the world.

"Hey Newt. Don't you think it's time to call it a night?" Dan yawned loudly from just outside the box.

"Yeah, probably should. Be right up." Newt called back. He unfolded himself from the floor and stretched; stiff from sitting on the metal surface for so long. "You'll be fine sleeping in here tonight, greenie. There's a blanket if you get cold, and you've still got food there, whenever your stomach decides to come back to you. We'll have to close the doors for now, but I'll check on you in the morning, yeah?"

The man gave a small smile, reaching over to the cold metal bowl of food beside him. He picked up the spoon from the dish and tapped the rim of the bowl, twice.

-tap tap-

 _Yes_.

Newt nodded, grinning a little. He reached down to pick up the candle jar and was just turning to go when he heard a rapid tapping on the dish, harsh and loud. Turning around, the man was looking intently right at him. He pointed at Newt, then gestured for the boy to come closer, pointing at Newt's right hip.

"Greenie? What is it?"

The man pointed again, made the come here gesture again. Thoroughly confused, Newt looked down at his hip. And the knife, clearly visible, caught the last bit of light from the sputtering candle. Newt put his hand on the grip of the knife, looking up sharply and taking a quick step back.

"You don't need a knife, greenie. You're safe here in the box, nothing can get to you in here."

A finger pointed at the knife, a hand was held out. _Please_.

"Why the bloody hell would you need a knife?"

Staring Newt straight in the eye, the man lifted his left hand to the bandages at his throat. He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand, imploring.

"No." Newt snapped. " _No_ , I won't be giving you the knife, greenie. Life in the glade may not be a picnic, and it sure as hell ain't easy, but it's a far sight better than the alternative. Once we're pried your ass out of here, you'll see."

-tap-

 _No._

Newt turned his back on the man, hopping up out of the box in one fluid, angry motion. Dan, waiting sleepily, helped him drop the heavy doors back into place, securing them tightly. The faint rippling light gave Newt one last glimpse of the man, slouching below them in silhouette in the box. His knee pulled up to his chest, his hands covering his face, the very picture of suffering. A sculpture of anguish. Newt lifted the light higher, until the man below him faded into the total black of the night. He walked briskly back to camp and his waiting hammock, Dan clomping off to drop into his own. He knew he needed to get some rest; he was running tomorrow. As the night burned on towards another day, Newt's last exchange with the man kept running through his head.

 _"It's a far sight better than the alternative. Once we're pried your ass out of here, you'll see."_

 _-tap-_

 _ **No**_ _._

* * *

 _Author's note;_ Hmmmmmmm.

~Ruby


	4. Epiphany

Author's note ~

This one is a tad bit shorter than the others, but it would have cut off in an awkward place had I tried to make it longer. I hope you enjoy. ^.~

* * *

 _Newt's last exchange with the man kept running through his head._

 _"It's a far sight better than the alternative. Once we're pried your ass out of here, you'll see."_

 _-tap-_

 _ **No**._

* * *

Newt was up and out of his hammock before the birds started singing to greet the sun. Too early to meet with the other runners and head into the maze, and far too early for anyone else to be up and about. He pulled his boots on in irritated jerks and hurried away from his sleeping quarters; he didn't want to wake any of the other boys. Just because he hadn't managed more than an hour or two of restless sleep didn't mean he had to get everyone else up right at the crack of dawn. He snagged an apple and some left over flatbreads from the cook hut and slunk past the haphazard shelters at the centre of the glade, munching on his breakfast as he scurried through the field to the box.

Flopping down on the ground beside the box, Newt peered inside. As he'd thought, he found the man in the same spot he'd left him in. Not wanting to wake him if he had managed to find a way to sleep in such an awkward position, Newt pitched his voice barely above a whisper.

"New day, greenie. You awake?"

The greenie lifted his head a bit, looking for the source of the voice. When he found it, he locked green eyes all but bruised with exhaustion on the blonde boy who'd come to check on him. In the watery morning light, Newt could clearly see the meal left beside him the night before; untouched. The water bottle and small canvas bag, both still obviously full, sat beside the full bowl.

"Y'know you can't just starve yourself to death, right?"

The spoon hit the side of the bowl, just like the night before.

-tap tap-

 _Yes._

"You really should eat something. Or, at the very least, have a ruddy drink of water. I don't know why you're so shucking comfortable right there, but if you keep this up, you'll be too weak to be able to move from that spot."

-tap tap-

 _Yes_.

"Is that what you want?" Newt demanded angrily.

-tap-

 **No**.

The answer startled Newt. The greenie didn't want to be weak, didn't want to be stuck in place, but he still refused to take any sustenance. Why? This whole situation would be so much easier if the slinthead could just talk to him.

"What do you want, greenie? How can I help you if I don't know how to?"

In response the man held out his hand, as he had the night before.

"Forget it, shank. I'm not giving you a bloody knife." Hearing the usual sounds of the glade starting to come to life for the day, Newt resignedly got to his feet. "I'm off, I've work to do today. I'll send Jeff in to take a look at you and switch out your bandages."

A weary, frustrated two fingered salute from the man.

Jogging back the way he came, Newt managed to collar Jeff before the med-jack's eyes were fully open for the day. Knowing he would have to get his ass in gear and meet the other runners at the door momentarily, he kept his instructions brief and to the point.

"Check on the green bean today, would you? Change his wraps, check his pulse. See if you can talk some food into him. Oh, and _do not_ take any kind of knife or blade into the box with you, got it?"

"B'why?" Yawned Jeff, "...is so much easier to cut the old bandages off than untie them."

"Just...don't, okay? I have a bad feeling that if that shank gets anything sharp, we'll have a real issue."

"Is he dangerous?" Jeff asked nervously, suddenly fully awake.

"Nah, I don't reckon so. He seems glued to that spot on the box, haven't seen him move from it yet. I doubt he'd be able to get up on his own, at this point. Just don't want to take the risk, y'know? Just check on him Jeff, keep an eye on him. I'll be back this evening."

Newt turned and sprinted away before Jeff could protest, darting toward the doors to the maze. Coming to a sudden stop in front of the three other boys gathered there, he tried his best to look as though he arrived rested and ready for another difficult day running. Minho, keeper of the runners for the last number of months, cocked and eyebrow and gave Newt a decidedly sarcastic look, but didn't comment. Taking his place on Minho's right flank, he tried to ignore the teasing looks on the faces of the two other boys. Newt was religiously punctual; they'd be able to tease him about this for forever.

 **"Let's go!"** Barked Minho, just as the doors groaned their way fully open.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 _Another bloody useless wasted day_ , Newt thought to himself as the four boys returned to the glade that evening. They were a bit earlier than anticipated, but Minho had decided to cut their explorations short rather than enter an unfamiliar section so late in the evening, and as soon as the doors closed for the evening the maze would begin to change again. Who knew how long it would be before they found that section again? _What was the point?_

The four boys jogged to the cook hut, Ben and Jack happily talking back and forth, wondering aloud what Frypan had put together tonight. Ben said something about sweet talking the cook out of an extra portion, and Jack punched his arm, laughing. Just another day, another run. Still no way out.

The runners collected their meals, scarfing the warm almost palatable hash down where they stood. Running was hungry work. Shoving down his discouragement at another day lost in the quest to solve the maze, Newt hailed Alby and Jeff from where they stood, involved in intense conversation. After he had all but licked his bowl clean.

"Newt. Anything new?"

Newt shook his head, trying not to look glum. Trying to keep the hope alive for the other boys was almost as important and finding a way out.

"Ah, well. There's always tomorrow, I guess."

"What about you two?" Newt asked. "Our new face up and about yet?"

The two darker boys exchanged a worried glance. "Actually, we need to talk to you about that." Alby stated. "I'm afraid the situation is deteriorating. I don't know if we can save this one."

"What do you mean?" Newt demanded.

"Jeff?"

At Alby's encouragement, Jeff shuffled his feet nervously, not quite looking at Newt. "Well, I did as you said. Went and saw him, talked to him a bit. Checked his wrists, rewrapped them. He made a couple of gestures I couldn't understand, though I did try. I tried to check the old bandage on his leg, but he kept swatting my hands away. Then he started tugging at the bandage on his neck. I asked if he wanted me to take it off, and he nodded, I swear. When I was looking for the knot, I tried to get him to bend his head forward so I could check the back and he totally freaked on me. Shoved me away so hard I fell flat on my ass. Couldn't get close enough to him to check it again. And he hasn't moved at all from the spot you guys found him in, it's really strange. Any chance his wrists weren't the only spot he was tagged to the box?"

At Jeff's words, a flash went off in Newt's head.

 _The greenie's arms had been bolted to the box._  
 _The greenie hadn't moved from his slump since the box came up._  
 _The greenie had freaked when Jeff had tried to move his head._  
 _The greenie hadn't spoken a word or made any sound at all._  
 _The greenie hadn't eaten or drunk at all._  
 _The greenie had asked for a knife._

Was his neck tagged to the metal frame of the box too? Tied there by the bandages, or held in place with something even worse?

Newt turned and ran towards the box abruptly, startling the boys gathered for dinner. Calling for the others to follow, Alby ran after his friend.

Newt skidded to a stop at the box, throwing the doors open and jumping down into the cage without hesitation. Checking that he still had Alby's knife in his belt, Newt hurried up to the man. He didn't look good; his eyes were half open and blank, staring at the sky, and his hands lay limp at his sides.

"Greenie, I think I understand. I'm going to cut you loose... _greenie?_ "

The man didn't move, didn't blink. Newt couldn't see his chest moving.

Newt dropped to his knees in front of the man, gently reaching a hand behind his head. Still no response, and Newt truly feared that he was already other boys had caught up and stood in a circle around the hole, silent as sentinels. He pressed the fingers of his right hand to the flesh of the man's neck, right below the jaw, looking for a pulse.

Quicker than a half-dead man should have been able to move, the guy grabbed Newt by the neck and spun him around, holding him in a choke hold with his left arm. As Newt sputtered and gasped, as the boys above shouted and tried to placate him, the man ran his hand down Newt's right side, finding the handle of the knife. Unsheathing it quickly, the man lifted it towards his face.

" _ **Stop!**_ " Newt gasped, struggling against the surprisingly strong arm that held him captive.

The man paused for a moment, sending Newt a sideways glace. Then, without hesitating, he put the knife between his own lips and jerked the blade sideways. He dropped the knife beside him, out of Newt's reach, and lifted his hand to his bloody lips. Reaching into his mouth with two fingers, he wiggled his jaw until Newt heard a faint -pop-. He pulled two molded black plastic pieces out of his mouth, tossing them away one at a time. Then he pulled Newt a little closer, lips all but at the boy's ear. Newt heard a hoarse, hissy whisper.

" _Stop struggling, I'm not going to hurt you. Listen closely. The choices you make now determine whether I live of die._ "

* * *

Author's note;

AngelFires ~ Thank you for your reviews; I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! To answer your question, Newt is about 16 years old in this, maybe just shy of that. Also, you were wondering about the fact that he's a runner in my fic; my setting is kind of a blurred composite of the movies and the books. In the books, it is mentioned that Newt was a runner before an injury left him with a permanant limp. In the movies, they don't mention that at all, though he does still retain a slight limp. Hope that sorts it out!

~Ruby


	5. A Deep Breath

Author's note~ Short again; the next few will be longer.

* * *

" _Stop struggling, I'm not going to hurt you. Listen closely. The choices you make now determine whether I live of die._ "

* * *

Panic flew through Newt as soon as that arm closed around him; he fought desperately to get free. Fear sweat slicked his skin, his breath trembled. He couldn't break free. In his panic, the shouts of the other gladers seemed faint and indistinct, as if they were far away. Dragging at the arm around his neck, fighting to push away from the warm rigid body behind him, he heard the man's softly spoken words but failed to understand them. A large hand clapped over one of his. Still squirming and struggling, his breath coming in terrified gasps, the boy didn't understand what the hand was doing for a moment.

-tap- Pause.

-tap- Pause.

When Newt froze for a second, the newly familiar message distracting him, the man hissed in his ear again.

" _Stop squirming around kid, unless you want to kill me. I'm not going to hurt you. Calm down_."

The arm around his throat, while still firm, gentled a bit. Newt, stunned into stillness at the words, tried to slow his breathing.

"Greenie...what the... _ **shucking slinthead!**_...grabbing me like that...why the fu-"

" _Shut up and listen, would you? I can't talk any louder than this, and I could really desperately use a hand getting out of this goddamn metal crate_." The man croaked quietly. " _Can you tell your friends to calm the hell down, and shut up a bit?_ " The noise from the other boys suddenly same back to the foreground, and the shouts were almost deafening.

"Newt!"

"What the hell? What does he want?"

" **Freaking Shank!** "

"We'll get you out Newt!"

"You hurt him, and we'll bolt you back in place and let you _ **rot!**_ " Alby's voice threatened darkly among the other questions and exclamations.

Frazzled, confused, and still riding the kick of adrenaline that had surged into him when he was grabbed, Newt yelled up to the frantic boys surrounding the box.

" **Oi! SHUT UP A MINUTE!** "

The silence crashed down as though someone had suddenly shut the entire crowd behind a door.

" _Let them know I'm not going to hurt you. Please._ "

"He says...he says he's not going to hurt me. Slim it a sec, okay?"

The small sea of faces stared, incredulous and disbelieving.

" _Thank you. I'm going to let you go now._ "

As good as his word, the arm confining the boy disappeared. Newt scrambled away, stopping a good four or five feet away from the man, facing him. The man rolled his eyes at the boy, picking up the knife from where he'd laid it beside him. Without trying to communicate, the man pulled the bandages at the front of his throat out far enough to slide the hunting knife beneath the linen and quickly sliced through them, peeling them back from his skin carefully. Fully visible in the late afternoon sunlight, a thin glinting silver wire ran tightly around his throat. The boys gasped as one. Small dribbles of smeared blood, dry and fresh, clearly showed where the wire had cut into his flesh. He then turned the knife and held it by the blade, tossing it handle first towards Newt. It landed with an echoing clang beside the boy. Newt picked up the knife.

"Jeff was right. You're still tagged in place," Newt said, his words far calmer than he truly felt as he approached the man again. "You only grabbed me to get to the knife, so you could show us how to help you." Within reach of the man once more, he held a hand out to the man, offering it. "If you let me check where the wire connects to, I can cut it at the anchor point-"

The man shook his head slightly, speaking too softly to hear, one hand at his throat. Newt gingerly leaned forward, trying to hear the scratchy words.

" _No, can't cut it-with a knife.- Do you -have wire -cutters? -Shears? Heavy- scissors? I need- something that -will snip it -not -hack through it.-Pulling on it- slice my-throat_ "

It seemed to be getting more difficult for the man to speak. His breath came in quick gasping pants. Newt straightened quickly, looking up at the rest of the gladers.

"Scissors, shears, wire cutters. Anything like that. Now!"

Half a dozen boys broke away from the group, darting back to camp to see what they could find. Taking a chance, Newt kneeled next to the man. He heard the thump of boots landing behind him, and felt a large hand grip his shoulder, hard.

"You okay Newt?"

"Right as rain, Alby. Bloody shank startled me, but I'm fine. No harm done."

Alby looked at the man tersely, his anger only partially eased by Newt's placating words. "We have rules here, greenie. You never harm another glader. You're on seriously thin ice, here, grabbing Newt like that."

" _Only-way._ " The man gasped.

Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours as the two boys and the prone man waited in tense silence. After what felt like an eternity, a voice was heard from up above.

"Pruning shears! Only thing we've got!"

"Toss them here." Alby commanded. He caught the shears easily, looking at the man suspiciously. The man held out his hand. Ignoring it for the moment, Alby looked right at his friend.

"Newt?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Slapping the shears into the man's hand, Alby grabbed a handful of Newt's shirt and dragged him backwards a few steps, just in case. The man reached behind his head with both hands, closing his eyes as he felt around. The muscles in his arms trembled as he fumbled for the wire. His fumbling movements stopped suddenly, he didn't even breathe. Everyone else watched with hushed expectancy. They heard a loud click. Eyes still closed tightly, the man slowly straightened up from the wall for the first time.

Still holding his breath, the man slid the narrowest point of the shears beneath the wire at the back of his neck. A fresh trickle of blood dribbled down his front as he worked the blade under the garrote. With a sharp squeeze and another loud click, the man cut the wire choker open. Dropping the shears, he took one end of the wire in each hand and slowly, delicately peeled it away from his skin. As he finally removed it from the front of his throat, he took a deep, shuddering breath; his first full breath in two full days. It sounded like a roar in the piercing silence.

Lifting a hand to his unencumbered throat, the man hung his head and just breathed, visibly overwhelmed by his freedom. Feeling that the danger had passed, Newt extracted himself from Alby's restraining grip and went to stand next to the man, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly.

" _Thank you. Thank you._ " The man rasped, his voice gravelly but clear. He looked up at the boy. "Thank you."

"Told you greenie," Newt smirked, trying to lighten the seriousness of the whole situation, "We're here to help you. You're a pretty sad sight at the moment, to be honest. Still sure your name ain't _Mary_?"

The man gave a weak, grinding laugh at the bad joke, quickly dissolving into a coughing fit. Spying the water bottle that Newt had left him the first morning, he uncapped it and took a big mouthful, swishing vigorously to rinse the blood from his lips out of his mouth and spitting it out, then quickly draining the rest of the bottle. Clearing his throat, he looked right at Newt.

"The name, kid, is Adrian. And I believe there is a guy by the name of Jeff who owes me a drink."

A bit or relieved laughter rippled through the boys. One or two had obviously been indulging during their meal; in a heartbeat someone had passed a mason jar half full of pale amber liquid to Alby. He held it out to the man, a mildly challenging look on his face. The man took it, sniffed it once, then tipped it back and drained it in one long swallow, letting out a long satisfied sigh.

Newt snorted. Alby clapped a hand on Adrian's back.

"Let's get the hell out of this box. Welcome to the Glade, Adrian."

"Absolutely." Adrian agreed. He tucked his left leg underneath him and pushed up, eager to stand on his own two feet. His right leg buckled beneath him and he stumbled, barely managing to grab the wall and stop himself from crumpling into a heap. In his haste to get out he had seriously misjudged how weak he really was; two days with no food or water compounded with blood loss had sapped his strength. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. He trembled from the effort of holding himself upright on his good leg, the throbbing beneath the bandage on his right thigh beating like a drum inside his head.

"I...might need a bit of help." He admitted.

* * *

Author's note ~ Ready or not, Gladers, here he comes.

~Ruby


	6. Patience

Author's note ~ Ready, willing and able. Sort of.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _He trembled from the effort of holding himself upright on his good leg, the throbbing beneath the bandage on his right thigh beating like a drum inside his head._

 _"I...might need a bit of help." He admitted._

* * *

Alby and Newt complied instantly, each pulling an arm around their shoulders and taking Adrian's weight. Hooking their free hands under the man's backside, they lifted him off his feet, and raised him up to the already reaching hands of the boys above. Many hands make light work, and the boys easily pulled the man up onto the grass. Alby and Newt quickly followed, taking charge of their greenie and once again taking his weight, they helped him limp towards the camp - and the med hut.

The gladers, fear for their comrade having abated, headed back to the cook hut to finish their meals. Jeff stayed behind, keeping pace with the slowly moving trio; his own meal would have to wait. Adrian, despite his multiple injuries, swiveled his head back and forth, taking in the surroundings avidly and mentally cataloguing.

 _...Californian Poppies, wild garlic, milk thistle, dandelions of course, mountain daisies over there, didn't think the elevation was high enough for those..._

"It's not much, but it's home. Respect it, follow the rules, and you'll do fine." Alby stated as the small group moved under the cover of the trees. Adrian appeared not to have heard.

 _...yarrow, that might come in handy. Wild clover, obviously. Bee balm, yes, and club moss. Fiddle head ferns, comfrey, that's nice to see...nice variety in a relatively small area. Should be able to utilize some of this, if need be..._

" _ **Hey, Greenie**_ ," Alby said, mildly annoyed. "Can you pay attention here? You need to learn the law of the land here. Why are you so interested in the weeds?"

"Hmmmm?" Adrian asked distractedly, turning to look at the dark boy. His eyes were visibly glazed, and sweat had started to bead on his forehead. His body was getting warmer to the touch.

"You're not looking so great, Adrian."

"Feeling a bit the worse for wear," Adrian admitted. "I'll be fine once your medic fixes me up. A couple of stitches, a dose of antibiotics. A truck load of painkillers. Then I'll be right as rain, you'll see-"

Adrian's eyebrows disappeared into his hair line as the boys crab-walked their way into the med hut. He looked around in disbelief, horror growing. A stick and rope shelter, chinks of light filtering through the hastily made roof housed a couple of low branch bunks and a bare dirt floor. Jeff had stepped in first, and was standing in front of a rough wooden table, looking through a dismally small arrangement of little tubs and jars, a couple of small bladed knives sitting in a jumble off to once side.

"THESE are your medical facilities?" He asked in shock. Based on the structures he had glanced at on the way here, Adrian hadn't anticipated a five star hospital experience; he was prepared to "rough it. He hadn't guessed that their "hospital" would be this primitive, though. Visions of first aid done in this room danced in his head, each more terrifying than the last.

 _I'm going to die. I survived being garroted and bolted to a metal cage, I survived two days with no food or water. These boys are going to "treat me" here, and that is what'll kill me._

"So, uh, lets take a look." Jeff said, the uncertainty in his voice doing wonders for Adrian's optimism.

 _Yeah, definitely going to die._

The boys maneuvered him onto one of the low bunks, moving out of the way so that Jeff could get started. He ran his finger over the shallow slice around Adrian's throat, picking up a damp rag and cleaning away the blood as he worked his way around. He picked up the same tub of greenish goo he had used to coat the wounds on Adrian's wrists with and was about to apply some to the nasty slice when Adrian stopped him.

"Can I see that for a moment?"

Jeff handed him the tub. Adrian read the ingredient list quickly, looking up at Jeff incredulously.

"This is camphor and menthol in a petroleum and turpentine oil base. It's used for helping clear up stuffy noses. It's great if you have a fucking cold, but it ain't exactly useful on open sores and bleeding wounds." Jeff snatched the jar back with a scowl.

"Oh, _excuse_ me. It's not like I've got any actual training in this. I didn't ask to be the med-jack, they pretty much picked my name _out of a hat!_ "

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose, his fears fully vindicated. _Patience. God give me patience._

"You need an antiseptic, and astringent and a painkiller. Needle and thread, forceps-" At the blank looks from all three boys Adrian swore under his breath.

"I need a needle and thread. Do you have that?" Jeff nodded, swallowing loudly.

"I need a pot of boiling water, a jar of whatever booze you have, a pair of strong tongs, a couple of empty jars. Two handfuls of marigo-the little bright orange flowers with the strong smell, and a few of the tallish pale orange flowers with black centers. And please tell me you at least know what clover looks like, a good bunch of it. You two," Adrian gestured to Newt and Alby, "can you get those things and bring them here?"

"A bit early for you to be giving us orders, isn't it Greenie?" Alby said sarcastically. "Anything else you need? _Feather pillow_ , someone to _feed you grapes_? Why the **shucking hell** should we be picking you **flowers?** "

"Because I now have a pretty good idea as to why I was shipped up here," Adrian replied with acidity, "and if I'm going to help you, first I have to make sure I survive. Water, booze, tongs, jars, flowers. Go."

The boys turned and walked out the door without another word. Once out of earshot they exchanged a brief and angry conversation.

"What the hell is going on with this guy?!" Alby griped. "He's been talking for all of what? An hour and he's already barking orders. Probably thinks because he's _older_ he can just waltz in here and take charge."

"I don't think so," Newt muttered, brow furrowed as he considered. "He seems to know a bit about healing and medicine. Maybe we'll benefit from having someone who can do more than just slap a bandage on and call it a day."

"Something about this smells rotten; he knows why he was sent here? **Yeah right!** I'll figure out what's going on with that shank, you can count on it!" Alby insisted. He stormed away to the food hut to get the water, tongs, jars and booze. Sighing over his old friend's reaction, Newt hurried back to the field to get the flowers. Within minutes the boys met back up at the door to the med hut, Frypan joining them and carrying a large pot of boiling hot water. Jeff and Adrian looked to be in deep conversation when the boys came in, both glancing over at the interruption. Jeff's face was almost as pale as his patient; a notable feat given his dark complexion. Adrian motion them over to the bunk he was sitting on.

"Alright boys, let's get started."

The boys set everything on the bunk beside the man, stepping back to watch with curiosity. What was he going to do with a handful of weeds and some boiling water?

Adrian quickly separated the plants, clover and poppies into one jar, marigold in another. He used an extra jar to dip steaming water out of the pot, filling the two jars almost to the brim so that the vegetation floated. He dropped the round end tongs and a small knife into the pot of water, and poured a goodly splash of home made liquor into yet another jar, dropping a threaded needle into the amber liquid. He moved briskly, talking as he worked.

"Listen up. I understand that you've probably been making do with what you have, but you haven't been using everything at your disposal. From what Jeff here has told me, you mostly rely on supplies sent up **to** you, right?"

"Well yeah, we don't really have much of a choice there. We've got to work with what we're given." Newt muttered.

"The thing is, you haven't been. You've got this whole pharmacy at your finger tips, and you probably haven't done more than tromp all over it while you've been here. If you want to use your resources wisely, look around you, not just at what you've been sent. Think, try, test your surroundings. This," he lifted the jar of steeped marigolds, now turning a rich golden color, "is an antiseptic and an astringent; it can stop bleeding and sanitize - kill germs to prevent infection. That," he pointed to the other jar, "helps to clean the blood, fight existing infection, and is a fairly decent pain killer. Alcohol or boiling water also sterilizes, it's good for cleaning tools before you use them. You need to do more than just wrap a chunk of cloth around a gaping hole for it to heal properly. It needs to be treated topically and internally, be cleaned, stitched, and worked on with clean and sterile tools."

The boys exchanged confused glances. "How do you know so much about this?" Alby challenged, trying to hide the fact that he was fairly impressed at the helpful new knowledge.

"Advanced studies in botany, biology, years of researching anthropology-"

"Wait," Frypan cut in, astounded. "You _**remember?** You remember your life outside of here?_"

"Every minute of it. And I'm sure you'll have tons of questions for me, as Jeff has given me a brief break down on how things are around here. I'll gladly give you any answers I have, but it'll have to wait. I'm of no use to anyone, dead."

Handing the marigold solution to Jeff, Adrian tilted his head back to give the boy clear access to his throat. Working quickly and thoroughly, Jeff cleaned the wound. Removing the bandages from Adrian's wrists, Jeff performed the same actions on the ugly gaping wounds. The other watched, transfixed, as Adrian picked up the needle and thread. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he slid the needle into the torn flesh of the first hole, making small neat stitches that closed the hole. He cut the thread with the knife, and efficiently closed the other three holes. The stitches made with his off hand weren't quite as tidy, but they'd do the trick. He nodded to Jeff, who was ready with fresh bandages. In no time, the newly cleaned and stitched wounds were wrapped in white linen. Looking up at his audience, he winced slightly, thinking of the next step.

"That was the easy part. The next bit it a tad more... _intense_. Anyone with a weak stomach, step out now."

Adrian sliced through the old bandages on his thigh and reached for his belt buckle, undoing it briskly. In one quick movement, he had slipped the pants under his behind, pulling them down to his ankles. He toed off his boots, pushing the pants completely off his legs until he sat in his underwear, otherwise naked from the waist down. The damage was immediately apparent. A vast gaping off center hole in his upper thigh was murderously red, swollen, and leaking a thick greenish white pus. Frypan gagged a bit, spinning around and hurrying out of the room, followed by Alby, his face ashen. Newt turned his face away, but pride prevented him from following the other two. Besides, he felt a little... _responsible_ for the new shank.

* * *

Author's note ~ Just an FYI. The techniques and medicinal herbs that I'll be using throughout this fic are, in fact, based on historically accurate information. For example, Marigolds do indeed make an antiseptic wash, Californian Poppies are a mild pain killer. Learning is fun!

R&R, if you so chose.

~Ruby


	7. A Shoulder

Author's note ~ **_I bleed it out, digging deeper just to throw it away._**

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Newt turned his face away, but pride prevented him from following the other two._

 _Besides, he felt a little...responsible for the new shank._

* * *

"Hand me the other jar, would you Jeff?" Adrian requested.

Taking the jar of clover and poppy solution from Jeff, he tipped it back and hurriedly drained half of the liquid. Making a face at the bitter flavor, he handed it back to the medic with a nod. "Cap that; I'll take the rest of it later. You know what you have to do now."

Jeff swallowed hard. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good. And Jeff? Once you start, _make good and sure you finish._ Don't half-ass it, or you won't be doing me any favors. Got it?"

Jeff closed his eyes and nodded, stress lines carving valleys across his forehead.

"Anything I can do?" Newt asked, reluctantly. He didn't think he'd be able to stomache assisting in whatever was coming next, but didn't feel right just doing nothing. He had to at least try to support them, especially as his friend looked sick and shaky, and the new guy had to be in a huge amount of pain himself. After glancing at the horrifying wound, he didn't really want to think about what the next step might be. Adrian jerked a shoulder, not really looking at Newt.

"I...could probably use a shoulder. Something to hold on to. "

Newt moved around to the opposite side of the bunk, sitting down next to Adrian so that their left shoulders brushed together. Firmly facing away, Newt steeled himself.

"What do you need me to do?"

"If you can, put your left hand on my right thigh; get a decent grip and hold it down. Brace my left shoulder with yours; it'll help keep me upright until Jeff is done."

Determined to help, Newt reached across Adrian and laid his hand on the man's body, preparing to get a good grip and resolutely not looking. When his hand felt warm flesh through thin fabric, Adrian suddenly stiffened and Newt froze, mortified.

" _ **Does that feel like a leg, kid?**_ "

"Uh..."

" _ **Then maybe you should let it go.**_ "

"Er..."

Jeff snorted audibly, breaking the tense moment. Adrian's hand took a hold of Newt's invasive appendage and removed it from the overly personal area it had landed in, placing it firmly on his warm bare thigh. Newt felt about ready to die of embarrassment and was suddenly very glad he was facing the other way; he turned his head a little further to hide the faint but distinct burning he felt in his cheeks. If it was possible to simply sink through the floor in mortification, he would have happily done so. Taking a few deep breaths in preparation, Adrian closed his eyes.

"Do it, Jeff."

Before he could lose his nerve, Jeff picked up the tongs in his lightly shaking hand and inserted them into the wound on Adrian's leg. Adrian's body jerked and he choked out a cry before gritting his teeth and turning his head into Newt's shoulder. His right hand clenched the bunk in a vise like grip, his left shot up and gripped Newt's free shoulder tightly. Black spots swam in front of his eyes.

 **"Hold him still!"** Jeff barked at Newt.

Newt leaned on his left hand with all his strength, holding the jittering leg in place. He could feel Adrian's panting breaths puffing against his skin, could feel the sweat from his forehead soaking into the shoulder of his shirt. He could see the muscles in the man's back, clenched tight as fists, as he fought to hold up through the pain. Hesitantly, Newt lifted his free hand to the man's back, holding him awkwardly through the agony, trying to offer what scant comfort he could as Jeff maneuvered the tongs inside Adrian's flesh.

After what felt like a lifetime of holding the trembling man, Jeff's seeming random movements suddenly stopped, and he took a stronger grip on the tongs. In one swift move and without stopping to think about it, he yanked on the tongs, removing a smallish twisted lump of metal from the abused limb. Adrian's body rocked with the force of the agonized scream that erupted from him before he, mercifully, passed out.

Newt felt the man go limp and only just managed to shift his left arm upwards to catch him before he could pitch forward. The hand released its painful grip on his shoulder and fell to the bunk as he supported the man's dead weight.

"What the _bloody hell_ did you do?!" Newt demanded.

"He told me...he told me there was _something_ in the hole in his thigh." Jeff spoke lowly, his voice shaking a little. "He said, if I didn't get it out, it would...poison him." He looked downright miserable as he looked at Newt, his eyes pleading a little. "He said it was the **only** way."

" _Something_ in there? Something like _what_?"

Jeff picked up the jar Adrian had used to dip water from the pot, dropping the gory object clasped in the tongs into the inch of tepid water left in the glass. It made a light tinkling sound as it hit the bottom of the jar.

It was a bullet.

The little chunk of iron sitting harmlessly in the glass jar looked almost innocent, and the boys stared at it in silence. In the quiet all they could hear were the sounds of birds settling down for the evening and the faint but steady breathing of the unconscious man. Jeff wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, grateful that the worst was over. "Keep him upright and steady so I can finish this, okay?" He requested. Newt nodded, shifting his arms a little to get a more comfortable grip on the greenie. The guy wasn't exactly a feather.

Jeff retrieved the jar of marigold solution that he had set aside and, using the rinsed tongs, swished a small wad of bandage in the golden liquid. Turning back, he carefully inserted the cloth into the open wound, packing it with the herbal soaked linen. He then used more dampened fabric to clean away the rather substantial amount of blood and pus that had leaked from the wound during the unpleasant procedure. Moving quickly, competently, Jeff bound the leg in fresh white linen, then helped Newt to ease the unconscious man down into a horizontal position on the bunk. Both boys stepped back, satisfied that they had done all they could for the moment. Jeff turned to Newt.

"I could really use a drink."

"That's the bloody truth, you and me both."

Newt spied the half full jar of untouched liquor and, after hardly a moment's thought, picked it up and drank half of the strong beverage, resisting the urge to make a face at the sharp unpleasant flavor. He offered the rest to the med-jack, who took it without ceremony and drained it in one slick gulp.

"I need to get a few things...the greenie asked me to get some things, in case he needs them when he wakes up. Can you watch him for a bit?"

Newt sighed, resigned. After a long night of no sleep, a full day of running, the excitement (and tension) of Adrian's release from the box, and the stress of assisting in the treatment of his injuries, Newt felt as though he'd lived a full week in the last day. He desperately wanted a little quiet time to just relax, _breathe_ and get his head around the events of the day. Still, he knew that Jeff would probably be up most of the night keeping an eye on his patient, and they couldn't exactly leave an injured person unattended.

"Sure, Jeff. I'll keep an eye."

"Thanks! I shouldn't be too long, there's not much light left."

Relieved, Jeff dashed away, leaving Newt alone with Adrian. Newt leaned against the wall, watching the man. He noticed that, even in sleep, Adrian didn't look particularly peaceful. He had a little worry scrunch between his eyebrows, his forehead was lightly furrowed. Newt wondered what he was thinking, seeing, dreaming. He wondered where Adrian had come from, why he was sent here to them. He wondered what answers Adrian might have when he woke up. Thinking of their rudimentary communication in the box, before Adrian could speak, Newt's burning curiosity eased to a simmer, the side of his mouth quirking into a small satisfied smirk.

He'd be able to get the answers. He just had to wait for Adrian to wake up.

Lost in thought, it felt as though only moments had passed when Jeff reappeared at the door of the med hut, his shirt held out in front of him like a basket. Shaking his head to clear it, Newt got up to offer Jeff a hand with his load of -

" **More bloody flowers?** What is this, a ' _get well_ ' bouquet?" Newt remarked sarcastically.

"He...the greenie..."

"Adrian."

"Adrian," Jeff corrected, "asked me to bring him as many flowers and plants from the meadow as he could, especially anything with blue or purple flowers. He said that most plants are useful for something; food or crafts or healing. He told me that if I brought in as many as I could, he'd be able to identify some, and may be able to make some other medicines. _And_ ," Jeff said, dumping the entire mess of vegetation onto an unoccupied bunk, a glint coming into his eye, "he said he'd teach me, show me what to use. _To help people_. I should be good here, if you want to take off for the night. "

Newt lifted a brow at the distinctive sound of metal hitting wood. Jeff smiled sheepishly. "He also wanted a metal can, a small pot, another jar of booze. Can you take that big pot and refill it with fresh water for me?"

Shaking his head a little at Jeff, Newt hauled the large hefty pot to the small creek that ran in a meandering path, forming a small pool that was just a few minutes walk from the back of the med hut. Delivering the water and considering his duties complete, Newt wandered back towards the center of the settlement. He was well and truly fagged, and wanted nothing more than to see if he could scrounge up a bit of a nibble from the cook hut and then pass out until morning.

It had been a long couple of days.

* * *

Author's note ~ For anyone who's wondering, while I am pulling from both the novel series and the films for this fic, the environment and character aesthetics ar based almost purely on the films. The more rustic, hand made dwellings and lack of first world supplies in the Glade, for example. It works better with my premise.

I also borrowed a bit of banter from BBT to add a spot of levity to a tense moment. I thought it worked well.

Thanks for reading!

~Ruby


	8. Fire Away

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _He was well and truly fagged, and wanted nothing more than to see if he could scrounge up a bit of a nibble from the cook hut and then pass out until morning. It had been a long couple of days._

* * *

The darkest part of the night had passed and the sky was starting to turn from true inky black to deep indigo blue when Jeff suddenly jerked awake. He'd been sitting against the wall of the med hut, opposite to his patient, keeping an eye through out the night. He must have dozed off for a moment. He looked around in the faint flickering light of the candles he had lit at dusk, wondering what had woken him.

" _Jeff_." Adrian whispered again.

Jeff stood quickly, going to the man. His face was visibly flushed, his eyes were glassy and sweat was soaking through his thin garments. He was radiating heat that Jeff could feel with his hand a foot away from his body. He had a high, aggressive fever, and this was exactly what Jeff had been afraid of. He helped the man into a sitting position, and quickly fetched the supplies he had been asked to gather and laid them beside Adrian.

Adrian swayed a little where he sat, shaking his head to try and clear his foggy brain. Fighting down a wave of nausea, he pawed through the tangle of vegetation and tried to focus his eyes, looking for anything that would help his body fight the important battle to come. _Thank God_ , he thought, separating a few strands of Feverfew, Bee balm and Milk Thistle from the grass, dandelions and other weeds in the heap of plant matter. Setting these aside, he picked up the tin can Jeff had found, and the jar of alcohol.

"I need a knife."

One was quickly handed to him. Despite the tremors that were beginning to run through him, Adrian managed to puncture a number of small holes around the top third of the can. He poured most of the alcohol into the bottom of the can, splashing a bit in his haste. Breathing slowly, trying to control his growing dizziness, he leaned forward and placed the can carefully on the dirt floor.

"Got a match?"

"Errrr," Jeff said helpfully, glancing around. He grabbed a candle and offered it instead, puzzled at the strange request. Adrian tipped the candle, touching the flame to the home made booze. It lit instantly, letting out a whoosh of sound that made Jeff jump a little, and filling the can with dancing blue flames. Adrian handed the boy the small metal pot. "Fill that with water for me, please." Jeff obliged, quickly bringing it back to the man. Adrian set the pot on the can, centering it carefully so that it didn't overbalance and fall. Tiny bubbles appeared almost instantly at the bottom. As Jeff watched, entranced, Adrian tore up the plants he had set aside and dropped them into the heating water. Then dizzy, sick and shaking, he laid down on his his side on the bunk.

"That needs to boil full on for two or three minutes; after that, pour the medicine into a couple of jars. Turn the empty pot upside down and use it to smother the flames. I'll need half a jar of that, once it's cooled a little, and if you happen have that jar of painkiller handy, I could really use it about now." Adrian's words were lightly slurred, and very quiet, hardly louder than a whisper.

Jeff retrieved the clover and poppy tea from the small table where he'd stashed it, handing it over readily. As the man drained the liquid from the jar, questions were all but bubbling out of his brain. He desperately wanted to ask how a few weeds could possibly ease the rage of a high fever, how they could sooth pain, how they could disinfect wounds. When the man closed his eyes and took slow, shuddering breaths, obviously trying to keep his grip on consciousness until the new brew was ready, Jeff bit his tongue, waiting in silence. There would be time for questions later.

Following the instructions exactly, Jeff transferred the herbal liquid to two fresh jars, filling both slightly more than half full. He placed the pot over the still burning can, and set the jar of hot liquid on the ground by the head of the bed. He returned to his original position, against the wall, waiting and watching. Sitting in the near darkness, Jeff kept his mouth shut for fully ten minutes before he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I think it's probably cooled enough now. Adrian...can you **really** teach me to use plants and stuff to make medicine? Does this stuff really _work?_ "

Adrian's glazed green eyes opened and looked directly into Jeff's, and he picked up the still warm jar, gulping down the medicine in one long swallow. Dropping the jar to the floor, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, chest rising and falling steadily. Jeff heaved a great sigh, closing his tired eyes and resigning himself to another couple of hours of silent vigil. Adrian's voice suddenly mumbled into the quiet; slurred and exhausted, but sill clear enough to understand.

"Yes...and yes."

Jeff spent the rest of the dark hours with a wide, unseen grin on his face.

As the first hint of sunlight started to lighten the sky, Jeff's wide grin had been replaced with a worried scowl. Adrian's body was drenched in sweat, and the man was muttering incoherently in his sleep, moving so restlessly that Jeff had resorted to sitting on the side of the bunk, keeping one arm on either side of the man, lest he roll off the bed and injure himself further. As the sun began to filter into the med hut in long watery yellow rays of light, the fever seemed to be soaring towards catastrophic levels. All of a sudden and without warning the fever broke, leaving the man silent, wet with sweat, but finally resting peacefully. Jeff felt the break, relief flooding through him as he began to feel the body temperature of his patient cool down towards more normal levels.

Feeling confident enough now to move away from the man, Jeff took a few minutes and tried to tidy up some of the mess that had started to take over the med hut in the last day. As he was gathering together all of the miscellaneous unused foliage, intending to leave it in an unoccupied corner of the hut for now, he noticed the handful of left over poppies and clover; extra from when Adrian had made his painkiller beverage. Glancing at the small tin can stove, still covered with the empty pot, he began contemplating what needed to be done next.

 _Should probably clean that leg wound again, the other cuts too, when he wakes up. Still have some of the disinfecting stuff left. He'll still be in a lot of pain, and the painkillers all gone...I wonder? Should I try?_

Moving quietly, so as to not disturb his patient, Jeff finished cleaning up the hut and putting everything to rights. Then, sitting on the floor with nothing but flowers, a tin can stove and a pot of water, attempted to replicate the poppy and clover drink the man had made the night before.

The sun was nearing its zenith when the leader of the group let himself into the med hut. As Newt was back in the maze with the other runners today, Alby had taken on the task of checking on the greenie himself. Carrying a small metal bowl of Frypan's breakfast mush, Alby walked over to where Jeff was slumped against the wall, asleep. Alby booted Jeff's leg gently, causing the wiry boy to bolt upright, instantly awake. Looking around wildly, it took Jeff a minute to register the visitor.

"How's our new shank doing, Jeff?"

"Be-e-tter," Jeff yawned, stretching as he got to his feet. "He had one hell of a fever last night, but it broke around dawn; he's been sleeping comfortably since."

"Any guess as to when he'll be awake? There's a few things I'd like to clean up with the greenie."

"The greenie **IS** awake. He would **still be** sleeping comfortably," a husky voice grumbled, "if **certain someones** weren't talking loud enough to wake the dead.

Both boys turned as the man winced his way up into a seated position, rolling his neck and rotating his shoulders one by one, working out the kinks of the long restless night. Before Alby could start interrogating, Jeff stepped forward and offered the man a fresh jar of lightly golden liquid. Adrian studied it briefly, noting the herbal contents and turning a questioning eye to the med-jack.

"I finished up the painkiller late last night...where did this come from?"

"I-I noticed that we still had some of the plants you used for the first batch," Jeff said, a little sheepishly, "and I figured you'd still be hurting this morning. I tried to make it like you did yesterday, but I'm not sure if I -"

The man threw his head back and a deep rumbling laugh rolled out, the gratifying sound bursting with approval. As Jeff tentatively smiled in return, Adrian tipped back the jar and drank deeply before flashing a cheeky grin at the boy.

"I'll make a real medic out of you yet, Jeff."

Alby grinned begrudgingly at the budding friendship between the two very different individuals in front of him, his suspicions about the man softening ever so slightly. Adrian's genuine approval of Jeff's earnest attempts to help went a long way towards changing the boy's first impression of the greenie. He offered Adrian the warm, lumpy gruel he had brought over from the cook hut. Adrian accepted it without a word, and made short work of inhaling the food; his first real sustenance in days. Alby watched him with a measuring stare, trying to sort out just what questions to ask of the newcomer. Adrian handed the clean bowl back, giving Alby a level stare.

"Thank you for that. I'm sure that there's a whole mess of questions you're planning on asking me, information you want, etcetera. Before we get into that, however, I believe that there is a bush outside that could _really benefit_ from a thorough watering, and I'm **more** than ready to oblige. Could you give me a hand outside?"

Alby snorted; at least the shank had a sense of humor. He gripped the man's hand, easily pulling him into an upright position, and supporting his weak side when he stumbled. Together, they limped their way over to the door. Stopping for a moment, Adrian looked over his shoulder at the exhausted med-jack.

"You look like shit, man. Why don't you go and crash for a while? Your fearless leader here will keep me company, and keep me out of trouble. Grab a nap, you've earned it." Jeff nodded; he didn't need to be told twice. As he moved to finish putting away the tools he's used that morning to make the painkilling beverage, Adrian called out once more.

"Oh, and Jeff? Thanks man. Really. _Thank you_."

With that sentiment, the pair moved out the door and out of sight. Every step was painful, but Adrian gritted his teeth and bore it. He could already tell that the pain was less than it had been the night before, and his temperature was, thankfully, back to acceptable levels. Once they had made their way just out of sight of the med hut, Adrian decided they had gone far enough. He gripped the trunk of a young tree firmly and let go of the boy supporting him.

"This patch of salal looks fairly thirsty, thanks."

Alby stepped back quickly, clearing his throat. "You okay on your own, or do you need me to..." He trailed off, obviously hoping for any answer but _"or"_.

"I'm good. Just be a minute. Maybe you could take a look for a sturdy branch or two for a walking stick for me, while I take care of watering this shrub?"

"Absolutely," Alby replied, relieved. He promptly turned his back and stepped away; close enough to hear if the greenie went down, far enough away to be discrete.

Adrian wasted no time, supporting himself on his strong left leg, he exposed himself and with considerable relief of his own, emptied his achingly full bladder. While he was taking care of business, he glanced around at his surroundings, making mental notes.

 _Temperate region, based on the vegetation. Should be a plethora of foliage that can be used for any number of things. Wish I knew what kind of altitude we're at; could be beneficial in guessing at weather patterns. From the flimsy nature of the buildings I've seen, they probably don't get much in the way of storms here, so that shouldn't be an issue. The air tastes a little damp, and it sounds like there is a creek or stream in the near vicinity, so fresh water must be fairly readily available. I'm pretty sure that that's comfrey over there, that's handy._

Finally emptied, Adrian put himself back to rights, sighing happily, wishing every problem was as easily solved as a full bladder. He managed a couple of little hopping steps away from the tree, steadying himself on a low hanging branch until he was within reach of a low growing plant with large dusty green leaves. He bent and ripped up a few leaves before straightening, ever so slightly winded. Alby didn't keep him waiting, stepping out of the underbrush with two thick slightly curved branches in hand.

"These do?"

"Yeah, I can make those work. Thanks."

Alby offered his shoulder once again, and in no time the two were back inside the med hut, Adrian on his bunk and Alby standing by, waiting to get some much needed answers. As the man shredded the leaves into a clean empty jar, he motioned towards one of the other bunks. "Might as well get comfortable. I'm not going anywhere at the moment, and, if I'm any kind of judge, you'll be wanting to give me the full Spanish Inquisition. Fire away."

* * *

Author's note ~ _Everything's going to change._

Thanks for reading. See you next chapter. ^.~

~Ruby


	9. BIAB

Author's note~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"Might as well get comfortable. I'm not going anywhere at the moment, and, if I'm any kind of judge, you'll be wanting to give me the full Spanish Inquisition. Fire away."_

* * *

"You said that you remember your life before, you remember everything that happened to you before you came up in the box." Alby stated.

"Yes, I did, and yes, I do."

"Who sent you here? Who sent US here?"

A deep sigh. "I honestly couldn't say."

"Why did they put us here?"

"Couldn't say."

"Are they punishing us, watching us? What do they want from us?"

"I Couldn't-"

"If you say that one more time, I _swear_ I'm going to punch you in your **shuck face!** " Alby exploded. "If you remember, you should at least have **SOME** answers! _Don't lie to me!_ Who put us here?! _**How do we get out?!**_ "

"Look," Adrian said evenly, his chilly tone a sharp contrast to Alby's angrily demanding questions. "I can't very well give you information _I don't have_. Trust me, if I knew how to get out of this place, I'd tell you in a heartbeat. No one deserves to be locked in here like a rat in a trap. As to the people behind this whole fucking mess, the whos whats and whys, I just can't give you the answers you're looking for. I'm sorry."

A long moment of cold tension passed between them.

"Well, what do you know then? You said you knew why you were sent here."

" ** _I said_** I have a pretty good idea," Corrected Adrian. "Most of my life, I've been a researcher. I retain knowledge really well, I have an eidetic memory. One of my favorite topics has always been the evolution of early man. I've read hundreds of texts on that subject alone. Utilizing botanicals, crafting tools, building shelters. I've always been fascinated by primitive peoples; their innovations and inventions are what eventually built the world we live in today..." Adrian trailed off, noting the unfocused look in Alby's eyes. He tried to simplify. "Survival skills, medicine, building shelters. I have a vast wealth of knowledge that can and will make life here better for all of you."

"Why would... **they**...send someone to help us? Why now? Why you?"

"They, for lack of a better term, must think that you guys are struggling to survive here. Apparently, they want to try to keep you alive and healthy for the foreseeable future. Tell me, how many people have been sent here all together?"

Alby sighed, resignation on his face. "The first sent here were in a group of 30. I was in that group. Then there were a couple of months where they sent up two or, rarely, three boys a week. Then it settled down to once a month with our supplies ever since. Not counting you, there have been 65 guys put here."

Adrian let out a low whistle; that was a lot of boys. "How many do you have out there right now?"

"There's 39 of us left."

Adrian winced, letting out a pained breath. "You lost more than a third of your population in, let me see here...about _**18 months?**_ That's a ridiculously high mortality rate. No wonder they sent me up here, they're obviously hoping to reduce that percent, have a better survival rate."

"So, what, they sent you to us to keep us alive? _Why would they do that?_ "

Adrian took his time, considering his answer. Studying the boy across from him, he could see suspicion, disbelief and...was it a glimmer of hope? He thought about the rest of the boys in the camp site, 38 others who were probably just as nervous, just as desperate for answers as their leader must be. He knew that he'd have to tread carefully; hope was a dangerously fragile thing. One wrong move and he could crush it like glass, leaving the camp in a depressive - and dangerous - place.

"I can't guess as to the reasoning of those who sent us up here. All I can say is that I'm here now, so let's make the most of this opportunity. I believe I can help out a great deal, here. As for the rest? Let's take it a day at a time."

Alby's head dipped, his frustration and disappointment clear. Adrian clapped a hand to the young man's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sure the answers will come, sooner or later. For now? Let's get to work. I'm going to need some information about how things work around here, what works, what doesn't. We'll make things better around here for everyone, and take everything else as it comes. A day at a time, man. Keep the faith."

* * *

Newt peeled off from the other runners as soon as they stepped out of the maze, intentionally separating himself from the others. Late afternoon sun shone on the glade, highlighting the vibrant green of the grass, the quiet beauty of the trees, the peace of the afternoon. Newt couldn't see any of it; he was too wrapped up in his own dark thoughts. He trudged along aimlessly, hands stuffed in his pocket and a scowl on his face.

 _Stone walls and ivy. Stone walls and ivy. Bloody stone walls and bloody **buggering** ivy. Every corridor, every junction, all the same. No matter how hard, how long we run, there never seems to be an end to the maze, it's just too shucking huge. Not even a glimmer, a hint of something that could lead to a way out. Every day, just the same thing every day. Stone walls and ivy. And no way out in sight._

His mood was further soured but his lack of rest the night before; he'd gone to bed early, but hadn't slept well. He tossed and turned for quite some time, and when he finally managed to drift off? His sleep was interrupted by disturbing and frightening dreams, dreams he couldn't quite remember when he was awake. Twice he'd woken up in a cold panic sweat, his heart thrumming like thunder. He probably hadn't gotten more than two or three hours of sleep, total, and he was definitely feeling it now. He rather desperately wanted to find a quiet place to sit; a chance to take some alone time to turn his brain off and just recharge. He didn't think that was really so much to ask for.

Voices greeted him as he walked, boys waved, but Newt kept walking, not feeling up to friendly conversation at the moment. He could always be counted on to lend a hand, offer a shoulder, chip in a smart-ass sarcastic comment to cut the tension of an argument, pitch in a bit of logic that caused a frustrated glader to look at things in a different way. He helped keep the glade united, focused, productive. By running, he helped the other boys keep their tenuous grip on hope; hope that somehow, some day they might just be able to make it out.

He wished he could find a way to see a little bit of bloody hope, himself.

Oblivious to his surroundings, Newt all but walked into Alby as he was passing in front of the supply hut. Alby held out a hand to steady the slender boy, his other arm occupied with a bundle of fabric.

"Oh, hey Newt, welcome back. Any progress?"

"...Still looking, Alby. Still looking."

"Ah, yeah. Okay. Hey, listen," Alby said, distracted. He looked a little frazzled, and considerably harried. "I've been talking with our new greenie for most of the day, getting some information, _ideas_...I told him I'd bring him some fresh clothes, but there's a couple of guys I really want to talk to about some of this. Can you take them over to him? He's getting better, but we probably shouldn't leave him alone for too long, at least until he's back on his feet, and Jeff's still down for the count."

Newt sighed inwardly, trying not to feel too put out at the request. He usually didn't mind babysitting a greenie, but he was bitterly disappointed that his quiet time was falling by the wayside because of it. He couldn't refuse Alby, though. His shorter, darker friend was trying to do the best he could in the leadership position he hadn't really wanted to begin with. Ever since they had lost their last leader, Nick, a couple of months ago, Alby had been pretty much forced into the job. Knowing how hard Alby tried, how he worked tirelessly to keep things working smoothly in the glade, how could Newt refuse? He nodded and took the bundle of clothes, changing his course and heading toward the med hut.

Struggling not to take out his frustration on an innocent party, Newt tried to force some cheer into his voice as he walked into the familiar building.

"Hey greenie, got a delivery for you. Hopefully they fit..."

Silence. The med hut was empty.

With more irritation than concern, Newt moved through the room, calling Adrian's name. A small pile of used bandages were sitting on his unoccupied bunk, and, on closer inspection, something had been scratched into the dirt floor in front of the bunk.

 **\- BIAB -**

 **l** ==== **)o**

"What the _bloody hell_ is that supposed to mean?!"

With the clothes tucked forgotten under his arm, Newt sprinted out of the hut, looking around in a flash. He didn't really want to think about the response from Alby and Jeff if he didn't find the greenie, and quickly. He could all but hear it now.

 _Oh sure, they've been keeping an eye on him for a full day and a night, no problem. Newt lost him in five minutes flat. Good show, Newt._

Trying to think, Newt closed his eyes and pictured the scratchy message in his head. The weird little design below the letters, it looked a little like...an arrow maybe? Newt opened his eyes and started walking briskly in the same direction the arrow had pointed. The guy was still injured, he certainly couldn't have gotten all that far. In only moments, Newt came to the scrubby underbrush lining the bank of the small creek, right where it joined the pool. He saw a patch of dug up earth and, with considerable relief, the torn, bloody pants hanging from a low thin branch. Mild panic fading, he reached out an arm and pushed aside the tangled branches, fully pissed now and prepared to snarl at the slinthead for buggering off without letting anyone know before hand.

Adrian was just ducking his head under the water of the pond when Newt spotted him. When he came up, he swam slowly over to a large stone that protruded from the water. He picked up something wet and dripping from the rock, lathering it into his hair with one hand and supporting himself with the other. Then he turned and slipped back beneath the surface of the water. Surfacing once more, he laid both hands on the rock and lifted himself out of the water, swiveling his body to sit firmly on the uneven stone surface. Tilting his head up so that the sun hit his face, Adrian closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh of contentment.

Newt wasn't exactly sure what to do next, his angry words dieing on his tongue. The guy seemed to be vastly improved, and was obviously self-sufficient enough to manage a swim in shallow water on his own. He looked to be really enjoying his stolen moment of solitude, basking in the warm sun and cool water. Maybe he'd just take a short walk, enjoy a bit of alone time himself. Now that he knew where the greenie was, he could come back and collect him in-

"You can either come out and join me or piss off and walk away, but don't just stand there like a peeping tom. It's irritating as all hell."

* * *

Author's note~ A bit of a breather for our guys before we get to harder times.

~Ruby


	10. Say Uncle

Author's note~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"You can either come out and join me or piss off and walk away, but don't just stand there like a peeping tom. It's irritating as all hell."_

* * *

Newt pushed past the greenery, instantly insulted. "I'm not a bleedin' _ **peeping tom!**_ What were you thinking, just taking off without telling anyone?!"

Adrian shrugged. "I left a message. After two full days in a metal box and another in a sick bed with a nasty, sweaty fever, I was in rather desperate need of a bath and a good scrub. _Trust me,_ your nose will thank me for it."

"I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you! I can't bloody well do that if you just up and bugger off!"

Another shrug, an indulgent sigh. "Well, _congratulations_ , you foiled my devious plot to slink away, relax and have a wash. Now that you've found me, you can keep an eye on me here." Looking at the frustrated, weary boy on the shore, Adrian waved a hand carelessly. "Might as well come in and join me. You look like you could use a nice relaxing swim yourself."

Newt started to snarl out a pithy response before suddenly stopping, taking a second to consider. He did enjoy the water, and maybe a nice afternoon swim would help clear his head. Giving in with an ill mannered shoulder jerk, he dropped the bundle of fresh clothes he still carried onto the small pebbled beach, efficiently stripping off his sweaty shirt, worn boots, and the rest of his garments. He stepped into the cool clear water and immersed himself fully in one slick movement. When he came up for air he wasn't able to stop a contented sigh of his own from leaving his lips as the water cradled him.

Surrendering to the soothing simplicity of it, Newt closed his eyes and just...floated. Neither speaking, both reveling in the silence, the boy and the man were in perfect harmony.

After nearly an hour of perfectly uncomplicated quiet, Newt made his way to where the man was still sitting, relaxing and soaking up the dappled light of the sun. When he was close enough to touch the rocky perch, Adrian surprised him by reaching out.

"Want a hand up?"

Newt took the offered appendage and the man lifted him from the water with ease, settling himself beside the man on the rock. The sun felt good on his cool wet skin, and he shook the tangled blonde hair out of his eyes, spraying Adrian with a rain of cold droplets. Adrian just lifted a brow at the spatter and, saying nothing, once again tilted his head back and closed his eyes, looking utterly content as he absorbed the sun's rays. Conscientious to not stare, Newt never the less took a good look at their newest glader; he'd yet to see the man in the full light of day. The dim light that filtered into the box, the murky gloom of the med hut, it was difficult to really see someone in those kind of conditions.

His hair was definitely on the red side of chestnut, Newt decided, and almost hit shoulder length in soft waves just this side of curly. He had high, sharp cheekbones, a square jaw showing a shadow of growing stubble, a thin nose, full lips. His dark eyebrows cut across his forehead with just a bit of a curve over deep set eyes, boasting a forest of lashes. The time in the sun was just starting to turn his skin a lightly golden color. He had a tattoo on his ribs; a plate size design of some foreign bird, done in black and reds and ending just above his right hip. There was something written at the bottom of the design, but Newt couldn't see it past Adrian's arm.

Some of the other boys were going to give this greenie a _lot_ of attention.

Long arms, long legs, a long torso. The wound on his thigh was no longer an angrily inflamed gaping red horror; the skin surrounding the area was back to a normal color, and the wound itself had been carefully stitched into a relatively small line. The other wounds appeared to be clean and healing well, which pleased Newt. The greenie appeared to be on the mend.

Also showing clearly in the sun; a multitude of bruises across the man's torso and back, a plethora of scars along his sides and shoulders. Deep purple bruises, larger than an apple, covered most of his ribcage, and angry red scars, barely healed, cross hatched the back of both shoulders. Fainter shadows showed on his wrists, clear thin bands of bruising from some form of shackle or restraint. Shifting uncomfortably as he took in the injuries, new and older, Newt couldn't quite stop himself from breaking the silence.

"You...you said that you remember your time...before you were sent up, yeah?"

 _"Hmmmmmm_." Sitting still as a stone, Adrian made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

"...what...happened to you?"

Adrian didn't move, but Newt could see the muscles in his shoulders tense at the hesitant question.

"I'm a researcher; it's my job to gather information and facts. Sometimes that means that I end up finding out about things that others would rather keep hidden." Adrian's tone was intentionally light and nonchalant, but his apparent bitterness still managed to creep in. "I poked my nose in the _wrong_ place, too cocksure of myself to really believe that anything would happen to me - or others - because of it." A long, painful pause. Newt waited silently, considering the implication of Adrian's words. "I'm damn good at what I do; careful, thorough, discrete. And I still managed to piss off just the wrong kind of person and, apparently, win the grand prize of an all expense paid one way trip here."

"What did you find out? Who did you piss off? Do you know-"

Adrian turned his head and looked at Newt in a flash, his misty green eyes open and considering. " _Quid pro quo_ , kid. You ask a question, you answer one."

"Yeah sure, fine. What do you want to know?" Newt asked impatiently.

"Just curious. What did you do, _Sally_ , to land yourself on babysitting detail?"

All other questions evaporated out of Newt's head as he sputtered in outrage.

" _ **SALLY?!**_ "

"Well yeah," Adrian replied casually, a mischievously little grin on his face. "You don't actually expect me to call you _Salamander_ , do you? Honestly, it's just a terrible name."

 **"Newt!** My bloody name is _Newt_ you **_twat!_** "

Adrian shrugged. " _Salamander_ , Newt, they're both small slimy amphibious critters. I think I'll stick with **Sally**. Suits you better."

"I don't think it does. **_Mary._** " Newt spat with a healthy dose of vindictive pleasure.

"Again with the _Mary_ is it?" Adrian murmured, his tone deadly calm. Quick as a whip, his arm flashed out and wrapped around Newt's neck, pulling him into a headlock. As the boy gasped and squirmed, Adrian leaned down and purred into his ear.

"Oh, I don't think so. Would ' ** _Mary'_** be able to do this?"

His free hand slid down Newt's side, still damp from the pond.

Newt was gasping, struggling. He hadn't expected Adrian to lash out so easily; the man had started the whole argument, after all. He tried to wriggle free of the arm at his neck, but his left arm was trapped between them and his sweating hand couldn't find purchase on the man's arm. Blind terror spiked through him as he felt the hand skimming down his body, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get away. Pride often crumbles under extreme pressure, and he begged fervently, trembling and squirming violently.

" _Please don't, please don't, please don't!_ "

The hand stopped, resting just under Newt's ribs.

"Oh I don't think so, _**Sally**_. Not until you cry uncle."

Quickly, mercilessly, Adrian wiggled his fingers into Newt's flesh.

A shocked, shaking, surprisingly high pitched giggle burst out of Newt's mouth before he could register what was happening. Freezing mid squirm, he turned his head and looked Adrian straight in the eye. "What the hell?"  
Returning the look with a certain steely determination, Adrian repeated himself.

"I **said** , cry uncle."

Adrian ruthlessly tickled Newt again, pulling another begrudging (and less hysterical) giggle from the boy. "Are you out of your mi-"

More giggles, evolving to full out belly laughter. Newt was struggling again, breathless again, but without any of the earlier fear or panic. Mind blank with relief and the sheer foolishness of the moment, Newt flopped like a fish, gasping for air, tears starting to run down his face. The hand was removed from his side, and the knuckles of a loose fist was gently set on the crown of his head.

Followed by a firm and authoritative noogie.

"Ah! Hey!"

"Yield. Say uncle."

"I won't!"

" **Say uncle**."

" **I won't**!"

" ** _Say it!_** "

Finally managing to slip his trapped arm free, Newt caught a stroke of good luck and landed a flailing elbow right in the man's healing ribs, knocking the breath out of him, causing him to release the boy in surprise and topple into the water.

" _Shit!_ " Newt exclaimed, a little breathless from the laughter and the wrestling. "Adrian!"

Adrian's head popped out of the water like a cork; he coughed up a mouthful of water and laughed like a loon, shaking the wet hair out of his eyes. Newt grinned back, a young happy grin that he hadn't worn since...he couldn't remember when. He offered a hand to the man.

Adrian took it. "Well done kid. Newt it is." And promptly yanked on the boy's hand, unceremoniously pulling him head first into the pond with a huge splash. After all, turn around is fair play.

Newt came up, sputtering and coughing and laughing, all at the same time. They laughed at and with each other as they treaded water easily for a while before both turned and started stroking towards the shore. Newt cast a sideways glance at the man, catching the look of understanding and resignation on his face. The fun and games were over, for now. It was time to head back.

* * *

Author's note ~ Laughter makes the world go round.

~Ruby


	11. Introductions

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Newt cast a sideways glance at the man, catching the look of understanding and resignation on his face. The fun and games were over, for now. It was time to head back._

* * *

Adrian made it to the shallows first, but he still had to wait for some assistance from Newt to fully make it to dry land. Without the water buoying him up, his leg threatened to fold beneath him when he tried to put his full weight on it. Without bothering to ask, Newt grabbed the man's arm and looped it over his shoulders, holding him up so he could take small hopping steps onto the rocky beach. Spotting a familiar shirt (washed, hung over a branch and mostly dry from the sun) as well as an equally familiar pair of underwear (in the same state) Newt helped Adrian head towards them, leaving him to lean against a stout tree as he retrieved his clothes and the change he had brought for the man from where he'd dropped them.

Returning quickly, Newt found the man using his old shirt to dry the water from his body and scrub his sopping hair to a tangled damp mop. He held the bundle of fresh clothes out to the man, who took them gratefully, tossing the damp towel-shirt to Newt. By the time Newt had dried off the man had succeeded in getting mostly dressed, pulling on pants and underwear in fast jerky motions while supporting himself with a weird stick of some kind on his weak side. Leaving off the shirt for now, Adrian leaned against the tree and attempted to work some of the snarls out of his wildly tangled hair as the boy quickly dressed himself. Newt glanced over at him, curious.

"What was that...gunk...you were washing with?"

"Soaproot. Never used it before but I recognized it, decided to give it a try. It did a really decent job, all in all."

Newt nodding, accepting the answer even if he didn't fully understand it. "The leg's looking better." He commented.

"Yeah, the antiseptic packing last night killed the worst of the infection; the rest of the pus drained out of it this morning, so I was finally able to stitch it up. It should heal up fine and dandy now, and I'll be walking on my own in a couple of days at the latest."

"Where'd you get that stick?"

Adrian mentally rolled his eyes at the boy's seemingly endless well of questions. "I had lots of time to putter as your boss-man was _grilling me_ \- and as I was grilling him - for most of the day. I borrowed a knife, and with a bit of carving and fine tuning, managed to turn out something that'll give me back a bit of my freedom until this leg heals up."

Newt glanced at the stick; it was actually two decent size branches, stripped of bark. They had been tied tightly together at the bottom and had three supporting horizontal bars; one at the top, and two more almost half way down. The top bar was padded with a wad of fabric, tightly wrapped around the wood.

"Not my best work, but it should do the job."

Nodding, Newt pulled his clothes on, crouching down to tie his boots. When Adrian finally stopped fighting with his hair, he grabbed his shirt, reaching up to pull it over his head. The tattoo on Adrian's ribs caught Newt's attention once more.

"That...design on your side. What is it?"

Pausing with his shirt high on his chest, Adrian turned slightly, offering Newt a full view of the picture.  
The silhouette of a strange bird with a long tail and head crest, its beak open wide as if screaming, standing right in the center of a small but blazing fire. The words that Newt hadn't been able to see before were done in a blocky gothic style, and read;

 **Rise From The Ashes**

"What is it?" Newt asked again. Adrian tugged the shirt down, and the tattoo vanished beneath the cloth.

"It's a phoenix."

"What does it mean?"

"It's a personal reminder." Adrian stated flatly, turning his head away and refusing to elaborate. He picked up his home made crutch and started limping towards the bent bushes where both had come through the foliage. "We should get back." For an injured man he was able to move fairly quickly, and had already snatched his ruined pants off the branch where he'd left them and started back towards the med hut before Newt could process his last comment; Newt had to scramble slightly to catch up. He walked silently by Adrian's side, shaking his head in confusion.

He almost missed Adrian's inability to speak; it seemed that every answer he got somehow spawned a dozen new questions. A loud clanging, metal on metal, echoed in the distance.

"That's Frypan, dinner must be ready. Hungry?"

" _ **Oh God, yeah.**_ Just let me get my boots on, then I'm all for eating pretty much everything I can get my hands on."

"Sure." Newt agreed, casually following the man to the dwelling and waiting for him at the entrance. It was time for him to meet the rest of the family.

* * *

The tables around the cook hut were full of rambunctious boys, talking and eating and joking around. The noise level was considerable given the size of the group, and the curious and mildly suspicious hush that fell when the group caught sight of the newcomer was all the more poignant for the contrast. Adrian stood as straight as he could, shoulder back, and met their considering stares with a level, measuring look of his own. Newt stepped into the void, taking advantage of the captive audience.

"This is our new greenie. Name of Adrian." Newt said, by way of an introduction, sliding a sideways glance and a small smirky grin at the man. "He's on the mend from his injuries, and the poor delicate flower should be back to full shortly. Until then, have a care, and keep an eye of the shank, will you?"

"What's the matter with him Newt? _Poor baby_ have a **boo-boo?** Does he need someone to _kiss it better?_ " A voice called out from the crowd, laughter rippling through the gathered boys.

Before Newt could come up with a suitably sarcastic response, Adrian stepped forward.

"Nah dude. I caught _one glimpse_ of your **ugly shuckin' face** when they opened the box, and I've been in shock and pain ever since. I might have _**nightmares.**_ "

Raucous hoots and more laughter from the boys, a couple of jeering comments tossed at the original speaker. Any hostilities from the group eased at the careless exchange, and the boys went back to their meals and conversations. After they had gotten their portions of the evening meal, they gratefully dropped onto benches at a crowded table.

"Good show, that." Newt commented, digging into his dinner.

"Well," Adrian said, curiously examining the mystery meat and potato sludge in his bowl, "I can't very well let them think I'm the weak sister, can I? It's always best, when joining an established group, to stand your ground early and prove you're not an easy target. They'll accept me easier for it, too." Sighing inwardly, he picked up his spoon and dug in; he couldn't afford to be picky. In short order and without further conversation, both bowls were very nearly clean, and the worst of the gnawing hunger in his belly had been quelled. Newt stood and picked up both bowls.

"I'm after a bit more, myself. Are you game?"

"Absolutely."

Nodding approval, Newt headed back to fetch another helping. Left idle in the middle of the group, Adrian started to overhear some of the conversations around him. One just off to his side caught his interest in particular.

" _Man_ , I don't know how he makes the meat so _tough._ "

"It's not that bad, I don't find it that tough."

"I'm _telling_ you, it's tougher than it used to be. It's getting harder to chomp my way through it. My jaw hurts from trying."

"Don't you think it's maybe just you? Why don't you go see Jeff, ask him?"

"I did! That shank said he couldn't see anything wrong with me. _I tell you_ , it's Frypan's cooking. Even my **teeth** hurt. You'd think after being the cook for so long, he'd figure out how to make decent grub!"

"You're just being a whiny shank, George. It's the same it's always been!"

Newt arrived at that moment, two full bowls in his hands. Focus back on his belly, Adrian quickly polished off his second portion and sat back, finally satisfied. Glancing down the table, he saw that the boy who had been complaining earlier was still sitting, brooding into his still partially full bowl. His companion had already left, so Adrian took a chance and leaned over.

"You'd be George?"

The boy looked up, startled. His cheeks looked a little hollow, and his skin had a faint, distinct - and telling - jaundiced tone. "Yeah, I'm George. 'Meetcha. Adrian right?"

"Yeah. Look, I couldn't help but overhear that you're having some...difficulties eating. Stop by the med-hut tonight, I'll give you something that should help."

The boy looked mildly insulted. " _Yeah?_ " He snorted, "and why would I do that? What do you know about it, huh?"

"I know that your jaw hurts, your teeth hurt. I know that your gums feel a little soft, that they bleed sometimes. I know that you feel tired more than you used to, just don't have any energy anymore. And I know that if you don't fix this now, you'll suffer and be very sorry later. I can help you."

George looked startled, lowering his voice to a hiss. "How did you know all that?"

"Because I recognize the signs. It's not a big problem yet, but it will be if you don't do something about it now." Adrian stated with authority. "Come and see me tonight, and in a day or two, you'll feel like a new man."

Watching Adrian with slitted eyes, George appeared to think hard for a moment. Then, with a sharp nod that signaled his acceptance, he quickly got up and walked away. Newt watched the exchange curiously, saying nothing until the other boy was out of earshot.

"What was that all about?"

Adrian shrugged. "I'm pretty sure he's suffering from something called a vitamin deficiency. His body's starving for something that it's just not getting, and that's making him sick. I'll make him a tea with some heavy vitamin C in it, should clear it up in no time."

Newt just stared at him, impressed. He wasn't sure what to ask next when his train of thought was derailed by Alby, who appeared at their table without warning.

"Evening guys. Finished?" Both nodded, waiting for Alby to continue. "Good. I've called a meeting of the Keepers tonight; there are some things that we need to talk about." Alby said blandly, looking right at Adrian. "I need you both there."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Adrian stated placidly, pushing himself to his feet. "Now's good for me. Lead the way."

* * *

Author's note ~ Next up; politics and answers.

~Ruby


	12. Temporary

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Adrian stated placidly, pushing himself to his feet. "Now's good for me. Lead the way."_

* * *

The 'Council Hall' was well occupied when the unlikely trio made their way through the door; every other keeper apart from Jeff was already present and accounted for. Gesturing to Adrian to take a seat off to the side, Alby stepped to the center of the circular space and got down to business.

"Alright Keepers, you have some idea as to why we're here. We've got a new face," Alby nodded at Adrian, "and we need to decide his place here. _Normally_ , we give a greenie a couple of days, watch them to see where the best fit for his is. In this case, I think we can forgo that. He has knowledge that will benefit the Builders, the Slicers, the Track-Hoes, pretty much every keeper could use him. " Alby nodded to each respective keeper as he named their profession, "but so far, he's already shown immediate knowledge and proficiency at a Med-Jack. I'm thinking that he needs to be made a Med-Jack, starting today. Any objections?"

"Yeah, I've got one."

Stunned, the entire assemble turned to the man. Adrian used his crutch to get to his feet, limping to the stand beside Alby in the middle of the room.

"As you said, Alby, I have knowledge that will benefit most of the keepers here, and certainly everyone else in the glade. I also possess something else; my memories from before I was sent here." There was a collective gasp from the shocked boys, a buzz of insistent questions. Adrian pitched his voice louder, making sure that all could hear him. "While I'm grateful that you would welcome me into your society so quickly, that you'd offer me a position where I could make a valid contribution, I'm afraid I won't be joining you; I'm not one of you."

Angry, suspicious mutters flew around the room. Adrian waited until they had quieted enough to continue.

"While I can't say as to who stranded you guys up here, I do remember who stuck me here, and why. And I can say with absolute certainty that **they don't intend for me to stay**. I'm temporary, transient. I have knowledge that will help you greatly and I'll share it, gladly. I'll give you anything I can. I'll do everything I can to help you, to teach you what I know, to help you find and sharpen the skills to better survive this mess you've been trapped in. When they're satisfied that I've nothing more to show you, to teach you; I'm done, they'll call me back. So I can't join your society, can't take a position as a Med-Jack. Because once I'm gone, _I'm gone_ , and you're on your own again."

No one spoke into the silence; confusion and disbelief lay thick in the air. The tension was thick enough to cut with a blade.

Jeff barreled through the door, panting and visibly disheveled. His eyes were a little wild, his voice a little frantic.

"Hey, has anyone seen the new guy?! I slept **way** longer than I meant to, and when I went back to the med-hut he was _gone!_ I've been looking everywhere..." Jeff trailed off as he clued in to the tense atmosphere in the room, glancing around at the keepers and finally spotting his patient standing big as life in the middle of it all. " **Adrian!** _There you are!_ "

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Jeff." Adrian commented dryly, "Glad you could join us."

Looking from keeper to keeper, seeing the anger, outrage and shock on the faces around him, Jeff mentally cursed his extended nap.

"What the hell did I miss?"

* * *

Newt leaned against the wall of the Council Hall, motionless, a statue forgotten in the frenzy going on in front of him. The keepers were in utter chaos, shouting angrily at the man or each other, hurling demands and accusations at Alby, gesturing wildly. Fists were clenched, teeth were bared. Alby spread his hands in a placating motion, obviously trying to reason with the other boys. Jeff stood in front of Adrian, pleading with him, his mouth moving fast as he all but begged the man in front of him. Adrian shook his head, putting a hand on Jeff's head in a conciliatory way. Through all of the commotion, Newt stood silently on the periphery, face an emotionless mask. He watched the proceedings with an odd detachment; though it was happening right in front of him he wasn't processing anything outside of his head right then.

He was sincerely and righteously pissed.

He thought back to that afternoon, the soothing swim in the pond, the quiet camaraderie of sitting on the rock in the sun. Asking questions. With a sudden burst of clarity, he realized that he had never gotten an answer to the last questions he'd asked - Adrian had completely side-tracked him, distracting him from his curiosity with that ridiculous tickling bout. And now, dropping this bomb?

Newt's temper continued to simmer, rapidly approaching the boil over point as he ran through the new information again. Adrian still had his memories. Adrian was going to _help_ them. Then, Adrian was going to _walk away_. More, Adrian was going to be **allowed** to walk away. Just a careless wave over his shoulder, a casual _best of luck, boys_ and he'd get to leave. He'd leave them here to rot. **He'd leave them.**

Staring at the man, rage in his eyes, desolate hopelessness in his throat, Newt barely noticed the man turn to look at him. Seeing the boy standing so still, so pale, noting the whirlwind of emotions in his eyes, Adrian decided the outburst had lasted far long enough.

"That's **enough!** Sit down, **shut up** , get a _fucking grip_ on yourselves!"

The noise level dropped to almost nothing, the boys watching the man with ill concealed dislike. Adrian's shout had brought Newt back to the present moment as well, and he focused on the man, listening intently with a slight sneer on his face.

 **"Look.** I can't change what was. I can't alter the truth, and I won't pretty it up or try to sugar coat it. This is what's happening, here and now. _Believ_ e me when I say," Adrian all but snarled, the bitterness and regret ringing sincerely in his voice, "that if I had _any fucking choice_ , I wouldn't be here. If I had any say, **YOU** wouldn't be here. If there had been a way for me to get you out, you bet your _asses_ I would have. I can't go back and redo, I can't change the past. But I can and will help you now, so that maybe you have a better tomorrow. That's the best I've got; it's all I have. _Take it or leave it._ "

"So **what** ," spat Gally; keeper of the builders and a tall, muscular boy with a cruel looking face, "you come in here, tell us you'll be leaving when you're done, and you want us to _roll out the welcome wagon?_ Want a **celebration** in your honor? How about a _feast_? You're gonna get off on giving us orders, telling us what to do? I'm not jumping to try and please a _temporary_ Slinthead on a _shuckin'_ power trip!"

"You don't have to do anything I tell you," Adrian replied coldly, cutting off Gally's tirade. "What you do with the knowledge I give you is up to you. I can teach you how to make better buildings, stronger buildings, with solidly water and weather proof roofs. I can show you how to make latrines, so that waste disposal is never an issue again. I can show you how to make tools, or medicine, or food that can be stored for years and not go bad. That is what I'm going to teach you. What you do with that knowledge, how you use it to improve your world, that's on you."

"And how, _**exactly**_ , are you planning on teaching us these _supposed_ skills?" Gally demanded harshly, a tiny glimmer of interest in his small muddy eyes.

"I'll show you; as many times as I need to until you learn. If I can put my hands on a notebook, I'll write down as much as I can. I'll get my hands dirty and put my back into it," Adrian said firmly, " _Whatever it takes._ If anyone wants to learn, to know, I'll teach them. I do have one request first, though."

Suspicion spiked through the group. Adrian ignored it.

"My first priority is the facilities in the med-hut. After talking in length to both Jeff and Alby, I've learned that about two thirds of the lives lost here have been preventable deaths - _**I'm going to rectify that**_." Adrian's eyes flashed with anger and resolve. "Your med-jack has been working with no tools, next to no supplies, and no way to access the knowledge that he needs to save lives. I can give him the knowledge, show him how to make supplies. I can't make tools out of thin air; unless there's a forge here or the assholes who put you here take pity and send some up, I'm limited in what I can make in that area. I can, however, help Jeff find the skills necessary to start **really** saving lives. At the very least, there needs to be a safe, contained area of the med-hut; an office where a med-jack can work on a seriously injured or ill person in a sanitary and controlled environment. I need the assistance of the builders to make that happen. It's **your** med-hut, it's where you have to go to get fixed up. Help me make it a place that actually saves life, instead of just putting _**bandaids**_ on _**bullet wounds.**_ "

Gally took Adrian's measure with a long, cold, considering stare. Apparently accepting the honesty in his voice, Gally scratched his head, working through it in his head.

"I think we can make that happen. What do you suggest?"

* * *

It took hours of discussion, argument and explanations, but the meeting finally came to an uneasy agreement. They would, begrudgingly, reluctantly, accept Adrian's help, choosing where and how to apply the information he could give them. Dismissed, Adrian made his way back to the med-hut, limping heavier now for having been on his feet for hours. Newt kept speed with him, silent as a shadow in the growing dark. The boy hadn't spoken at all during the meeting, and Adrian could feel the waves on anger and resentment rolling off him. Frankly, he couldn't blame the boy. Figuring that Newt's sense of responsibility for a newcomer obliged him to stay with the man, like it or not, he tried to cut the boy a little slack.

"I know the way from here, kid. Why don't you head back to your bunk, get some sleep?"

Newt looked at him and curled his lip, not bothering to respond. _Stubborn, hard-headed kid_ , Adrian thought to himself with exasperation, heroically maintaining his patience with the boy. _He's just angry. It's understandable under the circumstances._

With only one quick stop for Adrian to strip a handful of fresh green needles from a pine tree, the duo made it back to the med-hut without incident. In the candlelight inside, both could clearly see George, pacing the ample space. He looked up sharply at their entrance.

" _ **So** **?**_ You said you'd help me."

"And I will. Give me a minute here, will you, I just got in."

In no time at all, and to the reluctant fascination of Newt, Adrian had fired up his impromptu camp stove and started water boiling. He dropped the needles into the bubbling water, leaving it to boil for a moment. When he got up to get a couple of jars, George was watching him with confusion. Not bothering to explain at this point, Adrian laid a piece of bandage over the top of each jar, pouring the faintly green liquid through the gauze, straining out the needles. When both jars were full and capped, wrapped in a light layer of bandage to make them easier to handle, he extinguished the fire with the empty pot as he had before. He held the hot jars out to George.

"When this cools, drink two swallows before you go to bed. Starting tomorrow, two swallows when you get up and two before bed, until it's gone. It'll clear up your problem with your teeth, jaw, and fatigue."

"You're **shucking kidding me!** I'm _not_ going to drink leaf juice! _What the hell, man?!_ " George cried emphatically, disgust on his face as he refused to take the jars.

"This 'leaf juice' is safe, full of Vitamin C, and tastes lightly tangy. It'll also stop all your teeth from _falling out_ , which is what's going to happen if you don't get a serious dose of VC, PDQ. This is the quickest, most painless way to do that."

George blanched. "My teeth will... _fall out?_ "

"Yes. Take the tea, do what I told you. You'll feel a bit better tomorrow, back to your old self in a couple of days. After that? Start eating some fruit, don't pick out the vegetables from your meals. Or one day you _**will** _end up eating soup for the rest of your life."

George nodded and grabbed the jars, not even wincing at the heat radiating from the glass. Gripping them as if they were salvation, he ran out of the med-hut and into the night. Groaning a little, Adrian gratefully lowered himself onto his bunk, rubbing his aching thigh. Now that they were alone, he raised his green eyes to meet Newt's accusing blue. He sighed.

"Go ahead, get it out. You'll feel better for it."

* * *

Author's note ~ Temporary? Indeed.


	13. A-D-R-I-A-N

Author's note ~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Now that they were alone, he raised his green eyes to meet Newt's accusing blue. He sighed._

 _"Go ahead, get it out. You'll feel better for it."_

* * *

"So that's it, then. You're not _one of us_ ," Newt spat, "you're _honored_ to be offered a place here, but you won't be _joining_ us. When you're done, _you're gone_. You'll be able to leave. **You'll be gone** , and we'll still be **stuck here**." The words were low and harsh, a whisper of hurt threading through the vitriol.

"That's the way it is, kid. We don't get to choose the cards we're dealt; all we can do is play what we get. This is just what I've been dealt. Fact of life." Adrian's voice was eerily calm, pouring fuel on the fire of Newt's anger. "I'd change those facts if I could; as I can't, it's a waste of time to fight against them. I'm just playing my cards, kid. You'll understand, one day."

"Understand _**my ass!**_ The **only** bloody thing I understand is that you'll **_NEVER_ **be _one of us!"_ Newt hurled the words like a javelin, turning and all but running out of the med-hut. He never heard Adrian's soft, defeated answer.

" _I know._ "

Another restless night plagued Newt as he lay in his hammock, desperately trying to block out the day so that he could get some much needed sleep. The clarity and contentment of the afternoon swim felt like years ago, so much had happened since that Newt just couldn't settle. His anger at the man, his resentment over being stuck in the glade with no way out, his frustrated questions, left unanswered. And, under it all, a tiny seed of hurt that the greenie, a person he already felt attached to, especially after all the pain and stress of the last couple of days. A man who made him laugh and made him think; a new friend, who was going to just up and leave. Leave him here, in hell. Tossing and turning, Newt wrestled with the noxious brew of emotions bubbling inside him.

It was going to be a long night.

Newt wasn't the only one who failed to get a good night's sleep. A dozen feet away, Alby lie stone still in his bed, eyes staring at the rough twig ceiling far above his head. He wondered if the man would really help them. He tried to understand why he would have been sent to help them. He worried that Adrian was actually a saboteur, an agent of chaos sent up to mess with their society. He thought about all of the boys they'd lost, the lives gone like a handful of dirt in the breeze. He obsessed about what to do, what was right to do, what they should do. Mind whirling like the wings of a bird, Alby pondered deep into the night.

Back at the med-hut, Adrian tried to get comfortable on his lumpy wooden cot. Stretched out full length, he too stared at the ceiling above him, mentally sorting through the information he had gathered that day, making lists and notes in his head.

 _The builders should show up not long after dawn; with their help, I'll get an exam room sectioned off in half a day or less. Caulk the walls with mud, build a door frame, create a space that can be private, separated, segregated from the general med areas, if need be. Start teaching Jeff, bright boy, show him he absolute basics first, just in case something happens and I don't have time to show him more. Start showing the builders the basics of weaving, get them making tiles to shingle the rough roofs. Explore immediate surroundings, look for natural materials that can be used to improve the dwellings, make tools. Do... **something**...about Newt_.

Side tracked by thinking about the boy, Adrian closed his eyes, replaying his interactions with Newt. _Angry with me. Really angry, upset, hurt. **Hurt?** He barely knows me. Isn't it better to let it be known, up front, that I won't be here for long? Kinder, even, so that no one gets too attached._ He pictured the swim, the conversation, the good-natured tickle and noogie session. He thought about the laughter on that face, the goofy smile and breathless insults. He thought about how the boy had stiffened up, panicked when he'd put an arm around his neck, about how Newt would start slightly when he moved too quickly, tense if someone passed to close to him. Seeing the signs, Adrian closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on other matters, practical, pressing matters that he could control. When he finally drifted off to sleep, Newt's terrified pleading sent his dreams to dark and painful places.

" _Please don't, please don't, please don't!_ "

* * *

The morning came quickly, another bright clear day. Rolling the tension of the long night from his shoulders, Adrian limped over to the cook hut and ate a hurried breakfast, returning to the med-hut as soon as his belly was full. He had just enough time left to organize his thoughts into some semblance of order before a handful of stout boys showed up; carrying shovels, axes and buckets, lead by Gally. All projected an air of caution and calculation. Adrian nodded a greeting to them, gesturing to the back corner of the dwelling.

"Well boys, let's get started."

Without bothering to make introductions, Gally and the builders got down to it, marking an approximately 12 foot by 12 foot square on the floor, digging holes at intervals to anchor poles. Working together with minimal chatter, they brought in posts to support walls, thin branches to build the walls, buckets of mud and dry grass. Adrian showed them a new method of building walls based on ancient dwellings; mixing mud and straw to make a paste that stuck to the thin stick walls inside and out, making a smooth surface that offered complete privacy and reasonable insulation. Within a couple of short hours the first part of the build was complete; solid walls isolated the small room from the rest of the hut. The builders looked suitably impressed at the new way of building walls, and Adrian was rather pleased himself at the speed with which the boys picked up on the technique. He advised on and supervised the creation of a doorjamb, wide enough to carry an injured person through on a stretcher if needed. He had just started showing them how to create a frame that would become the door from the room when grating, thundering sound echoed through the glade. Adrian quickly got to his feet, standing with the suddenly distracted boys.

He recognized that sound. The box was coming back up.

The grinding, rattling sound of the box coming up rendered Adrian momentarily petrified; his mind lost in images from his own horrible trip in that claustrophobic metal cage. The builders glanced at each other, mildly confused but not showing any serious concern.

"It's early this week" Gally commented matter-of-factly, "Shouldn't be here for at least another two days." The other boys shrugged and, as one, turned and trotted out the door, heading to the see what was going on. Adrian shook himself out of his daze at last, coming back to himself in time to rush after the others in a fast hopping limp.

By the time he arrived at the box, everyone else in the glade was already gathered around, chattering. Unable to see through the crowd, Adrian hung onto his crutch and bent at the waist, taking several deep, steadying breaths. He was frustrated by just how weak he still was; spots danced in front of his eyes from pushing to keep up with boys both younger and more physically able than himself. Focusing on leveling out, he ignored the curious muttering from the cluster of boys. He didn't even hear his name being called at first, the boy he'd treated the night before had to slap him on the back to grab his attention.

" _ **Adrian!** _They're calling for you, man."

"Thanks George," Adrian replied, repressing a wince at the overly-enthusiastic pounding on his back. The still healing bruises on his ribs ached from the thumping hand. He straightened with the help of his crutch and limped towards the box, the boys moving to either side to form a kind of aisle for him. As he got closer to the opening he could see a pile of boxes on the grass beside the square opening, and two people down in the box, obviously deep in discussion. Adrian cleared his throat to grab their attention.

"Wondered when you were going to show up, _Greenie._ " Newt remarked acidicly, " _Sorry_ , did we interrupt your _beauty sleep?_ "

Alby slid a sidelong glance at his friend, curious as to the sudden hostility in Newt's voice. "Looks like someone sent you a care package, Green bean," Alby stated, gesturing at the two modestly sized wooden rated in an otherwise empty box. Across one side of the crates, a single word in bold black block printing left no doubt as to the destination of these supplies.

 **A-D-R-I-A-N**

Adrian had the distinct feeling that being sent something personally from the assholes who stranded them all here would not be earning him any new friends. Scanning the crates as they were handed up to waiting hands, he studied the other supply crates and boxes already stacked to the side, curious as to if there was anything different about these two crates. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he abruptly noticed a small symbol on the bottom corner of each of "his" crates. A small white circle inscribed with a thick red X marked both of them. Excitement surged through him, and he couldn't quite keep it out of his voice as he let out a relieved "Son-of-a-bitch."

"What? What is it?" Demanded Newt, curiosity getting the better of him as he jumped out of the box and leaned in close, examining the plain-looking wooden vessels.

"If I'm not mistaken, the assholes downstairs sent us some desperately needed gear." Adrian explained, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Can we get these back to the med-hut? It feels like Christmas, and I've been a **very** good boy."

Newt rolled his eyes, heaving an irritated sigh as he hauled one of the crates up and into his arms; might as well volunteer before someone _volunteered_ him. "I've got this one." He said, the chill in his voice failing to fully mask his desire to find out what was in the crates. Jeff stepped away from the gathered crowd, lifting the other crate with little difficulty and eyes shining with interest and a daub of hope. The trio moved quickly, eagerly, dumping the crates on an unoccupied bed in the med hut. The boys stepped back a little to give Adrian room to work, openly and unabashedly curious as to the mysterious contents. Adrian pried the lid from the first crate, pulling items out with a look of satisfaction and relief on his face.

"This is _fantastic,_ " Adrian muttered, pure pleasure shining on his face, the pile of implements and packages beside him growing as he rapidly emptied the first box. Jeff and Newt glanced at each other, mystified as to how such small items could have any real impact on their daily lives; how they could, Adrian said, save lives. Small bottles and packets with dense writing, small sealed plastic sleeves with tiny silver implements, some lengths of rubber tubing, some empty heavy plastic bags, completely sealed except for a small hose on one end. Weird, foreign items that neither boy could make sense of.

Adrian emptied the first crate quickly, moving on to the second without hesitation. More little packets, more little bottles. A whole cardboard box of silver syringes labeled " _serum"_. At least those looked familiar; their supplies usually contained at least one or two syringes of that substance a month; so vital to save the life of someone who had been stung. Next came a large, thick hard bound notebook of some kind, then a box of colored pencils. Several graphite pencils, a handful of ink pens. Totally lost as to why such things would be included with a box of med-hut supplies, the boys stepped closer as Adrian dug to the very bottom of the box and pulled out a large brown envelope. His name was written across the front in an untidy scrawl. The boys held their breath, curiosity burning as they edged closer, trying to see.

* * *

~Ruby


	14. Watch Your Step

Author's note~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Adrian dug to the very bottom of the box and pulled out a large brown envelope. His name was written across the front in an untidy scrawl. The boys held their breath, curiosity burning as they edged closer, trying to see._

* * *

Adrian ripped the envelope open, shaking the contents out into his hand. A small device fell into his hand, hardly larger than a wood chip. It was followed by small packet of silver capsules, and a piece of black wire with a metal tip on one end, two rubbery buds on the other. Adrian looked at the odd things for a moment before stuffing them into his pocket. Reaching into the envelope again, he pulled out a single folded sheet of paper, unfolding it carelessly.

Something small fell from the folded paper and landed on the ground at his feet, but Adrian didn't move to pick it up. He couldn't, he was completely frozen by the message on the paper. Five words that stole the breath from his lungs. Five words in block printing, written in a dry but smeared rust colored liquid. Jeff and Newt each peered over a shoulder, reading the note.

 **WATCH YOUR STEP**

 **DON'T FORGET**

Uneasy at the cryptic message, Newt spotted the sparkle of the fallen item at his feet and leaned over to pick it up. It looked like some kind of cheap metal hair thing, a rippled pin sticking out from a flimsy silver butterfly, dotted with colored stones. The same rusty substance that had been used to write the note had coated part of the little jeweled clip. Both boys took a big step back, Newt clearing his throat nervously, his earlier anger at the man overridden by concern.

"Adrian..."

The man turned to face them; his eyes totally blank and unresponsive. Newt wondered if he could even see them. He held out the pin, offering it.

"...What does it mean? What's going on?" The trepidation at the strange, vaguely threatening message had Newt's voice coming out soft, and a little scared.

Adrian's eyes focused on the hair clip, he reached out a hand that visibly trembled, delicately taking it from the blonde boy. He turned it over and over in his fingers, studying it with that same unresponsive look. In a sudden blur of motion, and without a single word Adrian grabbed his crutch and limped quickly out of the hut, almost at a run, disappearing into the brush of the forest before either of the boys could get over the shock. They looked at each other in dismay, their stares speaking volumes.

What the hell had just happened?

Concerned, and more than a little freaked out, the boys shook themselves into action and hurried out of the building, crashing into the undergrowth in pursuit of the man. When minutes passed with no sign of him, they started calling his name, feeling more urgent by the second.

 _ **"Adrian!?"**_

 _ **"Adrian, where are you?!"**_

After more than fifteen minutes of frantic searching they finally spotted him across a smallish clearing, sitting with his back against a huge tree right by the edge of the forest, barely ten feet from the eastern wall of the maze. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms folded across them, his head buried in his arms, his crutch carelessly tossed aside. Even from a distance they could see he was shaking like a leaf. Jeff moved to rush forward but Newt threw an arm in front of his chest, stopping his friend cold. The man was clearly having some kind of crisis; everything in Newt's gut told him to proceed with caution. He called out softly, trying not to alarm the man.

"Adrian?"

No response. No acknowledgement.

The boys started moving towards him slowly, as they would with a wounded animal. Newt tried again.

"Adrian? You okay, mate? Talk to us, tell us what's going on."

Still no response, just the same horrible shattered silence. They managed to get within about a dozen feet of the man when he suddenly threw out his arm, palm up, a violent, angry and very clear gesture.

 _ **Stop.**_

Even his hand shook, it looked like he was barely hanging on.

Both boys halted, a small sick fear burning in them. As they watched, the arm retracted, the hand moving to cover Adrian's hidden face in a gesture of pure misery. The boys held their ground, distraught at the erratic behavior. After a few tense minutes of watching, Newt took Jeff's arm and used his head to gesture back the way they came; the boys silently moved back to the far end of the clearing, giving the man some space.

"What the **shuckin' hell** is going **on?!** What's wrong with him?!" Jeff whispered, eyes cutting back and forth from Newt's face to the curled figure in the shadow of the tree. "What are we supposed to **do?** "

" _I don't know!_ " Newt whispered back, frustrated and concerned. " _I don't **bloody** know!_ I've seen some boys have a bit of a tantrum, or a jag, or even a good old mope. Everyone does, once in a while. But I've never seen this before."

"What do we do?"

Newt hissed through his teeth, trying to decide on the best way to handle the situation. "I think...I think we should give him some space. Leave him here for a while, until he pulls himself together."

" _That's_ your brilliant plan? _Leave him here?_ "

 _"Bloody hell_ , Jeff! I don't hear **you** coming up with something better. Just leave him be for now, I say. If he doesn't show up for supper, I'll come find him myself and...I'll think of something."

Giving the blonde boy a very doubtful look, Jeff finally nodded once, acquiescing. They turned and walked back the way they came, neither feeling much like talking at the moment. Newt stole one more glance over his shoulder at the hunched and trembling form of the upset man, wondering how things could have gone so sideways so quickly.

Adrian heard their calls, their soft words, the indistinct hissing of their whispered conversation, the rustling of their departure. Everything seemed to be funneling through a thick wad of cotton; he knew he should understand the words, but they might as well have been in a dead language. Alone, grasping at his few threads of control, he fought with everything he had to not just fall to pieces. Every muscle shivered with the effort, and despite his desperate attempts to clear his mind, horrible thoughts circled like buzzards at a fresh kill. He squeezed his head viciously between his hands, trying to push the images out of his mind.

Big green eyes, a brighter cleared color than his own, rimmed by long thick lashed. Sparkling with interest, intelligence, adoration. Love.

 _"You said that you were going to tell me a new story. You told me that one last night!"_

Pale skin, dainty frame. Small feet in scuffed black dress shoes. Such tiny, delicate hands. He was always afraid that he would hold too strongly, crush the tender hand when it slipped into his.

 _"Another! Another piggy back ride! Go Adrian, go go go!"_

A mass of curling strawberry blonde hair, never quite tidy no matter how hard they'd tried. Tendrils and wisps pulling out of the most favorite butterfly clips; a precious gift from long ago.

Screams of laughter from funny stories, from being swung in the air, from being tickled breathless. Glorious joyful sounds that turned ugly, hauntingly to screams of fear, horror, despair.

They'd tried for weeks, beating him, burning him, hitting him with shock after electrical shock. They starved him, they stabbed him, they threatened to take his eyes, his tongue, his hands. They'd inflicted upon him everything they could think of, and through it all, he had refused to break.

Sitting at the base of a tree, alone but for his own memories and dark thoughts, tears poured like rain down his face and his shoulders heaved with wracking sobs. He felt something crack inside him as he, finally, broke.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a somber pair that walked back into the med-hut; both boys too lost in their own heads to bother with casual conversation. A flurry of movement and voices in the construction area at the back of the dwelling pulled them both back to the present moment; the builders, finished with hauling supplies to the main site, had returned to finish working on their project. Gally hailed them as they stepped through the door.

"Hey guys. Coming along in here, dontcha think? Where's the greenie? He was supposed to be here helping us complete his _'vision'_. " Gally said, a hair sarcastically. "We can finish these walls, get some of the other bits he asked for done, but as for the trimmings...I can't build something I've never done before if he's awol."

"He's unavailable at the moment," Jeff stated, not meeting the taller boy's eyes.

"Unavailable?" Gally sneered, " _Mister important_ desperately needed elsewhere? Gone off to _'improve'_ something else, while we're here, busting our asses on his ' _special project'_?"

"Mind your own and just get it done, Gally." Newt said curtly. "Finish what you can for the day then knock off, get yourselves a meal. Anything else needs doing, it can get done tomorrow. You worry about building; I'll take care of the bloody green bean."

Gally gave Newt a mocking two fingered salute and turned back to his crew without commenting. Newt pulled Jeff to one side, speaking quietly so that his words wouldn't carry.

"I figure Adrian probably told you his plan for this place; can you keep an eye on things here? Take a look through some of that...junk that got sent up, sort it out best you can. After they're done and gone, head for dinner yourself. I should get to the homestead, help sort and organize the supplies."

"What about..."

"I'll keep an eye." Promised Newt. "If he doesn't show by supper, I'll go find him. We'll just give him some space for now. No need to tell the others."

Jeff nodded, rolling his eyes in agreement.

Newt started back towards the main area, leaving the med-hut in Jeff's capable hands. He had no doubts that the med-jack would keep an eagle eye on the builders; it was glaringly obvious that he already had a bit of hero worship going on for the new guy. Unable to stop himself, Newt threw one last worried glance at the forest over his shoulder, looking back the way that the man had gone. Then, shaking himself, he trudged off to meet up with the rest of the guys and do his duty.

* * *

~Ruby


	15. Teddy Bear

Author's note ~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Newt threw one last worried glance at the forest over his shoulder, looking back the way that the man had gone. Then, shaking himself, he trudged off to meet up with the rest of the guys and do his duty._

* * *

At dinnertime in the Glade there was still no sign of Adrian. After spending all afternoon sorting through boxes of supplies, debating with Alby over what should go where, checking old stocks and rotating the new to the back, Newt was feeling more than a little drained. He wasn't particularly fond of spending his time folding clothes and coiling rope, arranging barrels and stacking crates, but either Alby or Newt were always present when the supplies were tucked away; the sloppers were usually charged with the task, but God knew they could hardly find their asses with their own two hands. Without the supervision of at least one of the more responsible boys, the precious supplies would more likely as not end up either tossed in the corner of the Homestead in a rough jumble, get spilled all over the place, or end up going mysteriously "missing".

Newt joined the queue by the cook hut, unease growing in his guts as he scanned the area and caught no sight of the man. Shaking his head slightly, he received his portion of dinner and hurriedly ate it standing up, anxiety growing by the minute. He'd tried to keep Adrian and his utter desolation out of his mind while he worked but had only half succeeded; he had been rather short with the sloppers, barking orders and speaking sharply to those who dallied in an uncharacteristic way. It was apparently bad enough that Alby had asked him what crawled up his ass, causing him to all but snarl at his best friend and leaving him even more irritated and agitated.

Hastily swallowing his last bite, Newt went back to Frypan to get a portion to take to Adrian. Once Frypan had filled the bowl, he pulled a long white cardboard box from beneath the rough table his pot was resting on and offered it to the blonde boy.

"This was in my supplies, no idea what the hell it is. Nothing I can cook, anyway."

Newt accepted the box, tucking it under his arm and picking up the bowl of steaming food. "Ta Frypan."

The cook nodded acknowledgement, turning back to his pot, and the line up of boys looking for second helpings. Newt carefully carried the bowl in front of him, making his way slowly to the woods, and through the trees towards where he had last seen the greenie. He wasn't particularly surprised to find the man right where he'd left him; sitting hunched over with his back to the large old tree. Wordlessly, Newt made his way over to the man, silently turning and leaning against the tree, sliding down until he was sitting on Adrian's left side.

"Adrian?"

Silence, no response. His head was buried in his arms, his knees drawn up to his chest. Newt's anxiety bubbled higher. He tried to force a little cheer into his voice.

"Brought you dinner, greenie."

Still no response. Patience, Newt chanted in his head, patience. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a newbie have a bit of a breakdown, it probably wouldn't be the last. Patience. He set the bowl beside the man, reclining slightly against the tree, making himself comfortable, watching Adrian from the corner of his eyes.

"Well, it's there when you want it. It's a nice night, for what it's worth; I think I'll just sit here with you for a bit."

While he still didn't move, Adrian finally responded. His voice was hoarse, scratchy, and utterly deadpan.

"I'm fine. Just leave me be."

"Never said otherwise," Newt remarked, deliberately casual. "I'm just here to enjoy the quiet, the night air."

"Feel free to do that, anywhere but here."

"Don't think so," Newt said as he slumped even further, stretching and making exaggerated grunts of satisfaction, "I'm comfy _here_. If you don't like it, you can piss off back to the med-hut; I'm perfectly content to laze here all bloody night."

Adrian grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; something that would have been decidedly scathing had the words actually reached Newt's ears. Not bothering to respond, Newt pondered what step to take next. Suddenly remembering the box under his arm, he offered it to Adrian's still form, tapping it twice against the man's crossed arms.

"Did have a question, dunno if you've got an answer. This came up with the supplies, the kitchen stuff. Any idea what it is?"

Adrian heaved a deep, irritated sigh and raised his head a fraction, eyeing the white cardboard box. He took the box, finally straightening out of his hunch to lean back on the trunk beside Newt, studying the foreign container. Without a word, he popped the tape on one side, taking out one of the smaller packages inside.

"There were two of those boxes sent up. What are they? What are they for?"

By way of answering, Adrian ripped a little flap off the bottom of the box, opening it to reveal a number of flimsy paper matches. Pulling a slender white tube from the package with the ease of experience, he placed it between his lips and, with a quick strike of a match, lit the cigarette. He took a deep drag, holding it for a long moment in his lungs before exhaling a cloud of blue tinged smoke.

"Best guess is they're for me. I doubt any of you kids smoke."

Newt made a face and used his hand to waft the smoke away from him, the sharp and mildly unpleasant odor not at all appealing to him. While Newt watched him, Adrian leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, the glowing cigarette briefly illuminating his face with an eerie red glow as he drew in another lungful of smoke. The boy couldn't help but notice that even though his body was starting to relax, the man's face looked pale, exhausted, and utterly wrung out.

"You gonna tell me what's going on? What that message meant?"

Motionless except for the hand with the cigarette, Adrian wouldn't even open his eyes. "Nothing to tell. Personal message, personal issue. Won't affect you guys."

"But it **did** affect **you**. Gladers _stick together,_ " Newt said softly, taking a chance and laying a tentative hand on Adrian's shoulder. "Whether you're one of us or not, you're here now. We can help you. _Let me help you_." He didn't know why he felt so strongly about helping the shank, but remembering the devastation on the man's face, he just couldn't refuse the pressing need to reach out.

Adrian laid his hand over Newts briefly, giving it a quick, grateful squeeze, as he huffed out a miserable, defeated sigh, grinding the cigarette out beside him with quick jerky motions. "You can't help with this, kid. Nothing you can do. 'Preciate the offer, though."

"How do you know I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong?"

"Because there's nothing anyone can do. We're trapped, stuck in here, and everyone I.. _ **.forget it.**_ " Adrian snapped. "There's no point in thinking about it."

"You have someone.. _.out there_?" Newt all but whispered, eyes wide at the idea.

"I did." Adrian turned to Newt, a bitter parody of a smile on his face. "It must be so much easier for you guys, memories wiped before you're sent up. No old ghosts to haunt you."

"I'd give _**anything**_ to be able to fucking **_remember!_** " Newt growled, angrily.

Adrian just tilted his head back against the tree, closing his eyes, misery painted across his face. His words came out in a broken whisper.

" _I'd give anything to **forget**_."

Neither spoke for a long time after those painful words. The light grew dimmer, the first stars beginning to wink on above them, and still neither broke the silence. Each lost in their own thoughts, sitting with barely a foot of space between them, they might as well have been a thousand miles apart. The strain of the past few days combined with a couple restless nights had Newt drooping against the bark, struggling to stay awake. Even fighting as hard as he could, the boy dropped like a stone before the sky could transition to full darkness, his body leaning drunkenly and his head lolling to one side.

Truly alone now, Adrian pulled the small device from the envelope out of his pocket. Plugging the headphones into the jack, he shoved one of the ear buds in his right ear, rubbing the familiar on switch with his thumb. He knew this device; it had been with him, all but a part of him for so long. He remembered finding it during a research run to a derelict library in the far north, so many years ago. He recalled his puzzlement at the strange little box, smiling a little as he thought about his excitement, the thrill when one of the tech nerds back home had managed to jury rig the ancient technology to run on modern battery caps. And his complete disbelief and joy at hearing the music flow through the headphones and into his ears, his head, his heart. He'd searched fanatically for years afterwards, rounding up every broken old computer he could find, hauling them all home. With no little help from the more tech-savvy members of the community, he'd amassed an enormous and diverse collection of music; he'd rarely gone anywhere without his faithful little player.

Knowing full well the limitations of the little machine, he flicked it on, wondering which section of his musical library was currently loaded into its memory. Okay, old friend, he thought, what comfort can you give me tonight?

A deceptively simplistic thrumming piano melded with the sharper tones of a violin filled his head; an ironic smile crossed his face in the dark.

 ** _Hold your Grandma's Bible to your breast_**

 ** _Gonna put it to the test_**

 ** _You wanted it to be blessed_**

 ** _And in your heart, you know it to be true_**

 ** _You know what you've gotta do_**

 ** _They all depend on you_**

 ** _And you already know_**

 ** _Yes, you already know_**

 ** _How this will end_**

 _How incredibly fitting,_ he thought with just a whiff of bitterness. _I do indeed know how this ends._

Small snuffling noises to his left saved him from further thoughts into the irony of that particular song being the first he'd hear up here in the Glade. Looking over at his dogged and persistent 'companion', there was just enough light left to make out the blonde boy's face. For all that he appeared to be deeply asleep, his brow was furrowed, his muscles tense, his breath quick and shallow. He'd somehow shifted until there was barely an inch between them. _Bad dream_ , Adrian shrugged and thought to himself, _it'll pass._ Then Newt whimpered in his sleep, and Adrian ran his hand through his hair, irritated with his soft heart, the shitty circumstances, and the world in general. Fighting not to mutter under his breath, he shifted and gently laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, speaking in a low, soothing voice.

"It's okay, kid. It's alright, Newt. It's just a dream."

With no warning, Newt reacted to Adrian's gentle touch and soft words by twisting his body and latching onto the man; his head burrowed into his shoulder and his hand found a death-grip on the front of Adrian's tshirt. Face hidden, Newt muttered something unintelligible into the man's skin, snuggling in for what was, by all appearances, the long haul. Adrian sat, frozen, his left arm sticking straight out to the side and trapped against the tree by Newt's body. He raised his right hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off an impending headache.

 _Really? Prickly bastard when he's awake, clingy when he's out? Do I look like a fuckin' teddy bear?_

Resigned, he brought his left arm up and looped it around the boy's waist, managing to ever so slightly reposition him so that they were both in a more comfortable position. The sleeping blonde was out hard, and didn't protest to the movement. He just tightened his grip on the shirt and inched even closer to the man. Determined to just relax and enjoy his music, Adrian was just about to close his own eyes when he caught the faintest flicker of candle light, heard the mostly muffled footsteps on soft moss. Trying not to groan out loud in frustration, Adrian paused the player and watched the glade med-jack hesitantly make his way towards them. When he was about six feet away, he held up his free hand, stopping the boy. Jeff's eyebrows quirked upwards at the unusual visual before him.

"I appreciate you checking on me, " Adrian whispered, just loud enough to be heard, but not enough to wake the sleeper, "But I'm fine. Your _cuddly buddy_ here came to check on me, then somehow managed to fall asleep on me. The shank's got a grip like iron, so I won't be going anywhere at the moment. I'll see you back at the med-hut in the morning."

"You sure?" Jeff whispered back. "It's gotta to be uncomfortable as hell, leaning on that tree; you probably won't be getting any sleep, propped up like that. He's out now, but we could wake him, drag him back and dump him in his own bunk, so you can both get some sleep."

"Thanks. Honestly, thanks, but I seriously doubt I'll be getting any sleep tonight, Jeff, regardless of where I am." Adrian smiled wanly, then pointed to Newt with his eyes. "And he's totally conked out. He's been looking a bit ragged himself, so I might as well just leave him, let him get some rest. Least I can do, after he's been _babysitting_ me the last few days. Head to bed, Jeff. We've got a full day ahead of us tomorrow. "

Jeff nodded, an though he still looked unconvinced, he turned and left without protesting. The med-jack cast one quick glance back at the clearing before the brush swallowed him, and caught a sassy little two finger salute from Adrian. Grinning, he returned the gesture before slipping off into the woods, and disappearing from sight.

Sighing in relief at finally, finally being alone again, Adrian hit the resume button on his player, letting the familiar tones, words, feeling flow into him. Eyes closed against the dark, the cathartic tones of well loved songs filled his head. The boy at his side anchored him in place, his heart beating strongly against the man's in a soothing way. Giving himself over to the moment, Adrian emptied his head as best he could and tried to find a bit of peace.

* * *

Author's note~ Music is a big part of my life, it'll also play a significant role in Adrian's life in the glade. The song in this chapter is Devotchka's "How it Ends".

~Ruby


	16. A Little Bet

Author's note~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Giving himself over to the moment, Adrian emptied his head as best he could and tried to find a bit of peace._

* * *

Dawn was breaking in the glade, the birds just starting to break the silence and signal a new day. Newt was curled on his side beneath the large tree, sleeping a blissfully dreamless, deep sleep when the bird song started pulling him back towards consciousness. Muttering incomprehensibly, he burrowed his head under his arms and tried to will himself back to sleep, shivering slightly at the coolness of the morning. A sharp crack echoed in the clearing, then another, the noise refusing to let him slide back into slumber. Sitting up reluctantly, stretching luxuriously, he tried to rub the grit from his eyes, glancing around groggily for the source of the disturbance.

"Ahhhh, good morning _sleeping beauty,_ " Adrian commented dryly, cracking a branch in half across his knee in the middle of the clearing. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Newt blinked owlishly at the man, his brain struggling to come up to speed. Adrian just shot him an amused grin, bending down and stabbing the broken stick into the ground at his feet. He straightened, took five careful strides, then marked the spot with another piece of broken branch. His crutch barely slowed him down at all. Turning 90 degrees, he repeated the actions, then once more, until he had marked out a area; a rough square, about 16 feet on each side. Nodding to himself, he walked all the way around the square before stopping on the side that faced into the forest (and towards the med-hut), positioning himself in the approximate center of the line and planting two more sticks about three feet apart. Seemingly satisfied with his efforts, Adrian walked over to where the boy still sat, dusting his hands off before offering one to Newt.

"Up and at'em kid. New day, lots to do."

Newt shook the last of the cobwebs from his head and took the offered hand, letting the man haul him to his feet with a little groan. He was a bit stiff from sleeping on the ground, but for the first time in what felt like ages, he felt rested, recharged, ready for another day. Falling into step beside the man, Newt kept pace with him on the way back towards the center of the glade - and breakfast.

"Sleep well?" Adrian asked curiously, glancing at Newt out of the corner of his eye.

"Like a bloody rock. About time too, one more restless night and I'd be shucking _useless_ out there."

"Well, you look a hell of a lot better than you did." Adrian noted, with a hint of satisfaction. "You had shadows under your eyes big enough for a bear to hide in, and you were out cold last night, you must have needed it."

"Must have", Newt agreed, amiably. "I don't usually sleep well out here in the woods, and I'm normally a fairly light sleeper; one of the guys in a nearby hammock grunts or farts, and I'm up like a shot. I must've hit my limit, **hard** , to be able to conk out so completely out here."

 _"M'hmmm."_ Adrian hummed absently, still watching the boy.

Newt noticed the speculative glance and crinkled his nose in irritation at Adrian.

"What?"

"Nah, nothing kid. Just thinking."

Newt snorted at the obvious platitude, but before he could comment further, they reached the dining area outside the cook hut. It was mostly abandoned at the moment, but the smells of meat frying caused his stomach to snarl in a very demanding way. Focused on filling his gut, Newt let the topic drop and happily accepted a large steaming plate from Frypan, moving to a table and falling on his breakfast as though food were about to be outlawed. Adrian snickered lightly, but sat across from him and inhaled his own meal with just as much gusto. When both plates were clean they sat back a little, letting their stomachs settle for a moment before getting on with their days. Though he knew he'd probably regret gorging on a heavy breakfast before running all day, Newt sighed contentedly, enjoying the full feeling in his belly. Half a dozen other gladers had started to trickle into the eating area, but the duo were still separate enough to talk without being over heard. Newt leaned forward, face neutral, and spoke softly to the man across from him.

"You ready to tell me what the hell happened yesterday?" Adrian contemplated how best to answer, choosing his words carefully.

"I don't think it will come as a shock that I've been under a bit of _strain_ since I got here. Being stuck in that box for a couple of days, dealing with my injuries, coming to terms with my... _circumstances_ here, it's a lot to process. That message...was kind of the straw that broke the camel's back. I needed some time, some space, to... _contemplate_ , come to grips with certain things. All that shit just piled up, so I figured I was entitled to one night of brooding."

"And the message? What did it mean?" Newt asked, unable to bring up the hair pin and keeping his voice as non-confrontational as possible. He watched the man's face; his nostrils flared slightly, and his face hardened into an unreadable mask.

"Nothing in particular. It was just a nasty, well aimed **personal** comment. Don't worry about it."

Newt knew that there was more to the story, and desperately wanted to push, to find out what was really going on. He really wanted to help, but something in Adrian's tone warned him to leave well enough alone. Acquiescing reluctantly, Newt resolved himself to waiting until the man was ready to share the information freely. It was a hard decision to make, but his gut told him it was the right one. He stretched a bit, considerately changing the topic.

"What were you doing this morning, playing with sticks in the woods?"

Adrian smiled, understanding, and appreciating the switch to a new subject.

"I was marking out a place for a small hut. I can't very well just live in the med-hut, can I? I'm most of the way healed, I'll need a place of my own so I can stay out of everyone's way, find some peace and quiet. Besides, you snore like a _wild pig_ , I like the idea of actually being able to get some sleep of my own at night, thank you very much."

Newt snorted at that, slapping his hands on the table as he pushed himself to his feet,"I should get going, the doors will be open soon and we'll be heading out. You okay on your own today?"

Adrian nodded carelessly, gaining his own feet. "Yeah, no worries. I'll meet with the builders, keep working on the med-hut. Start teaching Jeff a thing or two, if I have time. Good luck."

Newt gave a casual backward wave as the two parted ways.

By the time the builders arrived at the med-hut, Adrian was already hard at work. After placating a concerned Jeff and setting him to the task of organizing the contents of the medical supply boxes on one of the bunks, he had begun working on the frame for the door to the new office. He had it completed and was weaving long, thin, supple branches into the frame to create the door itself when the burly teens arrived. Hands moving quickly, Adrian explained as he worked, and by mid morning had finished the door, demonstrated how to hang it on primitive wire loop hinges, and even shown the boys how to make a simple one-sided turn latch and sturdy bar system for securing the new door. The small office was now entirely segregated from the rest of the med-hut, and while six adolescent boys and one man standing in the empty space made it feel stingy, the space was more than generous enough for its intended purpose. The boys looked around the new office, reluctantly impressed with the impressive change in so short a time. Gally watched Adrian silently as the man paced the small space, measuring spaces with his hands and muttering to himself. He finally turned back to the keeper of the builders.

"It's a hell of a lot better than it was, and a giant step in the right direction." Adrian stated, pleased with the progress so far. "But there are a couple of things that we'll need to make to really make this a place of healing. The outside wall is probably the best place for a small wood stove, for boiling water and making medicine. The little chem stove I threw together will work in a pinch, but something more substantial is needed for the long run. Also, we'll need to build a table with a hard, non-porous surface that can be cleaned and disinfected, kept sanitary. We'll put a simple basin on one end, lay a drain pipe to the outside, so that med-jacks can wash their hands properly."

"And just _how_ ," Gally interjected in a snarky tone, "are you planning on doing that? Putting a _fire_ in a _wooden building_...you'll burn the place down the first time you light it! And a table with a basin, with a drain pipe? How the **shuck** do you expect to build that with no real supplies? _Mud and hope?_ It'll never happen!"

"Considering that you claim to be a builder but couldn't come up with the incredibly simple idea of using mud as caulking to make a more secure, wind and weather proof dwelling, I'm not particularly surprised that you think it's impossible." Adrian retorted in a cold, level tone. "If you have **two** brain cells to rub together, I'd be _**shocked**_. Shut up, listen, and you might learn something useful." Gally sneered angrily, but kept his mouth shut. "When I took a swim and cleaned up at the pond the other day, I noticed a smallish deposit of clay; a different kind of dirt. It doesn't have the best grain, but it should be serviceable. That being said, I doubt I'd be able to make, fire and move a clay slab and basin without cracking it and making it useless. With the abundance of wood ash from the cooking fires, and a decent amount of clay and a bit of water, I should be able to make a very simple form of concrete, and use that to make the table surface, basin, and drain pipe. I'll also use it as mortar; we'll bring in a few good loads of river smoothed rocks, and build a proper wood stove for in here. Everything will be solid as a rock once it's cured. One full day, maybe two, and this place should be done up right."

" _Cement?_ " Gally snorted with derision, turning to look at his astonished crew. "Out of _ash_ and more _mud?_ **No shucking way**. This slinthead's out of his mind, crazy as a shank during the changing!" The boys started laughing along with their leader, shaking their heads at the ridiculous idea of mud and ash turning to stone.

 _"Oh really_ , **crazy** am I? You sure about that?" Adrian asked calmly, a devious little light flaring in his eyes. "What do you gentlemen say to a little ** _bet?"_**

* * *

~Ruby


	17. Already Dead

Author's note~ Tension causes cracks, cracks tend to spread.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"Oh really, crazy am I? You sure about that?" Adrian asked calmly, a devious little light flaring in his eyes. "What do you gentlemen say to a little bet?"_

* * *

Everyone in the glade was feeling the strain of their unexpected guest. Though the boys tried to ignore it, anxiety and an indefinable fear lurked in the back of their minds, their thoughts saturated with all the possible meanings of the man's arrival. Uncertainty was a constant monster each boy faced with every new day, but now it felt as though the beast was panting hot breaths against the very backs of their necks; everyone was on edge. The keepers were working the boys harder than ever, doing everything they could to try and keep minds and hands occupied with productive work, and Minho was no different.

For three full days, Newt hardly had enough time to himself to bolt down his breakfast in the morning, or to scarf down a meal before he fell into his hammock at night; tired to the bone, every muscle exhausted from running all day. From first light to door close, they ran the maze. From the time they stepped back into the glade, they were in the map room, going over and over and over the maps, straining their brains looking for patterns. Minho, for all his sassy comments and unwavering loyalty to those he cared about, could be a ruthless, merciless tyrant when it came to running the maze. When Minho finally, finally granted Newt a day out of the running rotation, the almost hedonistic pleasure of sleeping past the runners usual daybreak wake up felt like sheer heaven. Newt lazed in his hammock until almost mid morning, wallowing in his well earned sloth. When he finally crawled out of bed he headed straight to the cook hut, and ate until he thought he would burst. The sun showed it was fully noon when Newt decided that he'd better actually attempt to accomplish something with his day.

Belly filled, body rested, mind no longer occupied by crippling exhaustion or changing patterns and dancing maps, Newt realized that it had been three days since he had last seen the greenie; glimpses from a distance at mealtimes as he gobbled his food and tried not to pass out in his plate non-withstanding. He decided to hunt up the man, check on him. Realizing how long it had been, he felt a tad bit guilty, truth be told. He beat feet in the familiar direction of the med-hut, wondering what Adrian had been up to the last couple of days.

Newt let himself into the building, fully expecting to find Adrian puttering around somewhere inside. When a quick scan of the open area revealed it to be empty, he made his way to the 'office', rapping a quick tattoo against the wood with his knuckles before pushing the door open. It was immediately apparent that something was very, very wrong.

Newt hadn't had a chance to take a look at the new addition to the med-hut, but he couldn't focus on the distinct and obvious changes to the area at the moment. The place was in shambles! A newly built small table had been knocked to the ground, small packets of medical supplies and colorful pencils scattered carelessly on the floor. In the corner of the room a large notebook lay discarded on the floor, spine open to a partially completed entry. A few small blood drops added stark color to the black and white floral sketch on the paper.

Newt's heart thudded in his chest; something ugly had happened in here. Trying to calm himself, he carefully took stock of the rest of the room, looking for any indications of what had happened to his friend. Turning in a small circle he noticed it; faint but distinct marks in the hard packed earth floor, from the middle of the small room right through the door he'd just come in. Twin paths, as though something - or someone- had been dragged out of the room.

Taking a bracing breath, Newt followed the drag marks out of the med-hut, and off into the brush. The path taken was easier to see here; he might not have been a tracker, but the long months spent running the maze had trained his eye to pick up details with ease. He followed the broken branches and deepening drag marks towards a small clearing, somewhat away from the center of the settlement. Hearing voices through the foliage, he tried to move as quietly as he could, finally managing to peer past the leaves of a large fern and see clearly into the opening beyond. What he saw made his stomach clench nervously, and his hands fist in anger.

Half a dozen boys surrounded Adrian, each with a rough burlap sack covering their faces. Newt couldn't make out their eyes behind the holes cut in the fabric, and they had apparently raided the supply area, as all were wearing identical gray thermal shirts, making them all but impossible to tell apart. Two held Adrian's arms behind his back, three stood back and watched, one stood out in front; the leader. They'd gagged him with a piece of cloth, and Newt could see even from his hiding place that Adrian's eye was already going purple, and there was blood on his face. As he watch, the one in front plowed a clenched fist into Adrian's ribs, once, twice, leaning a bit and adding a jab to his kidneys. Newt gritted his teeth, rapidly considering the best way to stop this without getting the shit kicked out of him.

"So," another kidney punch. Adrian oofed out a breath, but didn't flinch. "You think that just because you're **older,** because you **remember things,** that you get to _tell everyone what to do_ , hey? You're so smart, so much _better_ , so you can just say jump and we ask how high? You don't know anything about how things work around here you stupid fucking **_shank!_** "

Another trio of brutal blows to Adrian's torso. Newt had to do something about this now, before it was too late.

"You want to make us your personal little band of head-nodders, going _Yes Sir, Yes Sir_ , yeah right, you make me **sick!** Think you should be in charge, do you? Kick Alby out of the way, take over, take control!?"

Adrian's shoulders started to shake, the tremors starting small and growing larger and more violent. The leader of the group closed in, taking a handful of Adrian's hair and forcing his head up so that he could look straight into the man's eyes. Behind the gag, Adrian was laughing.

"What's so funny, slinthead? D'you think we won't fight to protect our home, our way of life? It would be nothing for you to just **POOF!** Disappear." The masked boy leaned in close, speaking quietly, maliciously. "D'you think you'd be the first body we've buried in the woods?" The leader pulled a knife from the sheath at his hip, laying the blade against the fading red scar circling Adrian's neck. "Don' doubt for a _shucking second_ that I'll- "

Adrian rolled his eyes, pulled his head back, and efficiently head butted the boy, breaking his nose and putting him firmly on the ground. He stomped on the foot of one of the boys holding his arms, taking advantage of their surprise and ducking out of their grips easily. When they lunged for him, he pivoted, kneeing one boy in the groin and sweeping his feet out from underneath him; a sharp elbow knocked the breath out of the other before a well thrown right cross snapped the boy's head back. Both boys joined the leader on the forest floor, moaning as they cradled their damaged body parts. The three boys not directly involved in the brawl rolled to the balls of their feet, clearly unsure whether to rush to their friend's aid or to beat a hasty retreat and avoid being bashed themselves. Adrian removed the crude gag and turned, spitting to clear the blood from his split lip out of his mouth.

"Alright boys, you've had your fun. Now, try and pay attention, because I'm only going to say this once." Adrian's eyes roamed, locking gazes with each of the boys for a moment. Newt held his breath. For the life of him, he couldn't have moved if he tried.

"Everyone listening? Good. I'm not here to _'take control_ ' of your little glade. I have no fucking interest in running this little gong show, and I wouldn't take it even if everyone here got down on their knees and begged me, got it? It would make **NO** sense for me to be put in charge, not when I'm just visiting."

"What do you mean, _visiting?_ " Coughed the leader of the boys, "Are you a shucking spy? Keeping an eye on us for the assholes that stuck us here? You think you can just -"

Adrian threw his head back and laughed, loud and deep. He stepped over to the boy and reached down, easily hauling him to his feet so that they were eye to eye.

"If I ever see the assholes that stranded you - all of you - and I in this little slice of Hell, I guarantee you, they'll be getting a couple of extra holes to breathe through. I don't work for them. I never have, I never will. The thing you still don't get.. _.there's no getting out of this for me_. I know entirely too much to ever go free. My time is limited; they'll leave me here just long enough to teach you boys certain things, survival tricks to help you. Maybe I'll even be able to show you a better quality of life. Then, _ **I'm gone**_. I understood that from the moment I woke up in that fucking metal box with my lips glued shut and a chunk of wire _cutting off my air!_ "

He dropped the boy in a heap on the ground, turning his back on his now transfixed audience. Looking over his shoulder, he offered one more parting thought as he walked away.

"There's no point in threatening me, boys. _**I'm already dead.**_ "

The bushes on the far side of the clearing rustled as Adrian strode out of sight; he was gone in an instant. After an uneasy moment of contemplation, the six boys in the clearing departed as well, heading off in a different direction. Newt stayed where he was, crouched behind the wall of ferns, his mind spinning in a dozen different directions. He stayed there for a long time, crouched in the greenery, until the shadows started to grow long and the stars began to wink into sight, thinking about Adrian's words, and the cold acceptance on his face when he'd said them.

" _ **I'm already dead.**_ "

* * *

Author's note~

Bit of a time jump from the last chapter to this one. Wondering what the results of the bet from last chapter are? We'll find out in the next chapter.

See you then. ^.~

~Ruby


	18. Cohesion and Order

Author's note~

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _He stayed there for a long time, crouched in the greenery, until the shadows started to grow long and the stars began to wink into sight, thinking about Adrian's words, and the cold acceptance on his face when he'd said them._

 _"I'm already dead."_

* * *

Adrian all but simmered with irritation as he stalked to the med-hut, his expression thunderous beneath the violently blue bruised skin and spatter of blood on his face. He headed straight for the little office, snarling under his breath as he quickly, efficiently began to put the new area to rights. His mind worked vigorously as he tidied up the mess the early afternoon visit from his 'new friends' had caused, cataloguing and assessing the damage.

 _None of the pencils are broken, thankfully. That entry in the book will have to be redone, and I had just perfected the sketch, too. It just needed color. Bastards. Thank God I hadn't gotten the concrete top poured on that table, yet. If I had, it would've cracked in the fall for sure. I'dve smeared them like jelly if they'd broken it, ignorant pricks. None of these med packs are damaged, just spread around. Looked worse than it is. How am I supposed to help a bunch of idiot kids if they're convinced I'm the damn enemy?_

He was almost finished when his silent fuming was interrupted by Jeff, the boy's cheerful voice filling the room before he made it through the door.

"Hey Adrian! I think I managed to identify some of the plants you've been showing me! I picked a few and brought them with me, so that you can..." The man turned at the voice, and Jeff's cheer turned to shock when he saw the bruises, the blood. He looked around the room, immediately noticing the clean up in progress. " _ **Adrian?!**_ What the shuck?! _What happened?"_

"Just a bit of a dust-up." Adrian sighed, breathing his anger out in one long, unsatisfying huff. "No damage to the office, the supplies. Just my face." He winced slightly, feeling the pull in his split lip at the motion.

" **Slintheads!** Who the hell did this? We gotta go talk to Alby!"

"Nah, no need." Adrian waved a dismissive hand in the air, turning back to his clean up mission as he spoke. "I believe the boys and I understand one another now, and I seriously doubt they'll be after trying to cause me more trouble after this. I...explained things rather clearly to them, and there's no reason for them to screw with this place; it's for them too, after all. Might as well let it go."

Forcing himself to do just that, Adrian finished stowing the drawing supplies away with his notebook, assuring himself that he'd get back to working on it tomorrow. After a moment of consideration, Jeff moved up beside him and helped him finish sorting the packages of sealed, sterile medical supplies back into their proper piles. In no time at all the room was all squared away; Jeff finally spoke.

"We should get you cleaned up, take a look at the damage."

"Yeah, you're probably right. We'll take a look at the herbs you brought back, see if anything is usable. Might as well make use of the opportunity." Adrian grumbled a little, pointing at his face. "It's time for you to learn how to treat bruises, cuts, and general pain. Practical herbal medicine, **101**. Let's get started."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jeff and Adrian walked into the dining area dinner was in full swing, the usual cheerful racket of a large group of teenage boys, unwinding after a full day of working, all but deafening after the quiet, intensely focused atmosphere of the med hut. The man brought a jar of questionably colored goo and a shiner with him, but at least after working with Jeff the bruising was less painful, and the swelling had reduced to a much more acceptable level. Ignoring the dinner cue for the moment, he scanned the crowd and quickly identified a small group that was notably quieter than the rest of the gang, half a dozen boys who sat sullen (and bruised) at a table at the far end of the eatery. Adrian made his way to them without hesitation, limping slightly but still managing to arrogantly swagger up the the table, slapping the jar down in the center of the group. Six pairs of eyes flicked up at him before, guiltily, cutting away to look at anything but the man. All conversations in the surrounding area cut off abruptly; a breathless silence fell. Adrian's words were heard clearly in the sudden stillness.

"Well boys, what have we learned?"

The group refused to answer, most steadfastly studying the wooden grain of the table. One boy, sporting two black eyes and a grossly swollen nose, raised his eyes in an angry, defiant gaze.

"The next time you think about challenging me to a wrestling match you might want to reconsider, and try picking someone in your own weight class. I **did** warn you that I don't pull punches, eh? No hard feelings, boys."

All six boys were now staring at him, glancing at each other from the sides of their eyes. He wasn't going to rat them out for jumping him? With Alby's 'Never harm another Glader' rule, they'd all been obsessing over the potential consequences of the episode in the woods. After the man had left the clearing and their situation had become clear to them, each had been gripped by a bowel loosening terror; what if they were exiled for what they'd done? A death sentence hung over their heads, filling their minds with horrific images of trying to survive a night in the maze. Now, after hours of worry he sauntered up to them, not to condemn them, but to let them off the hook? Could it be true?

Smiling a little, Adrian could all but read the thoughts of the group of wannabe thugs; their fear, disbelief and relief were so transparently clear he had to suppress a chuckle, and their dumbfounded looks caused his own mood to improve exponentially. He reached down and tapped the jar of ointment he'd walked Jeff through making.

"No harm, no foul. Smear some of this on your bruises; it'll reduce the swelling, ease the pain. Couple of days, you'll be good as new, ugly as ever."

The battered boys laughed weakly, the rest of the gathering breaking into sniggering laughter as Adrian walked away, turning back to their own meals and conversations now that the show was over. The stunned six boys stared at each other in wonder; the sudden feeling of having dodged a bullet leaving them all but euphoric.

Adrian bellied up to the cook, gratefully accepting a large serving of roast meat, potatoes and beans, and made a beeline for Jeff. The boy had managed to save him a seat and he dropped into it, thankfully, before tearing into his meal. By the time the man had finally slaked his ravenous hunger, most of the boys had drifted away, and Jeff leaned over to speak to Adrian quietly, reasonably sure that they wouldn't be overheard.

"You're really just going to let them off the hook? _Just like that?"_

Adrian shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

"They talk tough, but they're no different than the rest of you, really. They're edgy, uncertain about me, afraid of my intent. They're just scared, idiot kids who snapped and did something stupid and reckless. They must've been in knots all day, terrified of what would happen to them if I talked to Alby. That, and the nice little ass-kicking I gave them, is more than sufficient punishment for their crimes. They'll learn from this and, maybe, be a bit better off for it. Bumps and bruises are nothing, it's a small price for me to pay to get my point across, and an important lesson for everyone, I think."

"What lesson?"

Spontaneously, a snippet of song lyrics played in Adrian's head.

 _ **So instead of thinking I just act before I have a chance**_

 _ **To contemplate the consequence of**_

 _ **Actions**_

 _ **And I will turn off**_

 _ **And I will shut down**_

 _ **Burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground**_

 _ **And I will turn off**_

 _ **And I will shut down**_

 _ **The chemicals are restless in my head**_

He contemplated the message of the song, and chose his words carefully.

"Make the stupid choice, fail to think things through? Lash out at each other, try to hurt each other? You won't make it to tomorrow. Survival is king. You guys are trying to find a way out of here, Jeff, but you've gotta live long enough to see it happen, or everything you've been through here just doesn't fucking matter. To do that, you've gotta work together. **Cohesion and order**. Word of what happened today will spread like wildfire, soon most everyone will have heard the story. Six lives could have ended tonight, if I've got the gist of the punishment right, for nothing more than hot heads and stupid choices. Every life lost to stupidity is a tragedy, and a loss you _can't afford_ if you're going to survive this place. "

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Long after the others had left, Newt stayed crouched behind the cover of the undergrowth; trapped, lost in his own convoluted thoughts. Two words chanted in his head like a tribal drum beat. Already dead, already dead, already dead. Hours he spent locked away behind the dark wanderings of his mind, until finally, something as simple and basic as the cool damp chill brought on by the approaching evening finally brought him back to reality. Getting to his feet after so log in one position took no small amount of effort, but eventually, with much groaning and muttered curses, he managed. Stretching out his stiff muscles, he tried to walk out the kinks, wandering aimlessly in the woods as his muscles slowly loosened up.

Without really thinking about it, his feet took him in the direction of the small clearing that Adrian had fled to after the incident with the message in the supplies. Figuring it to be as pleasant a spot as any to enjoy a little solitude as he attempted to wrap his head around the latest developments, he quickened his pace, pushing through the low hanging branches and tall, swaying ferns.

 _Maybe I'll sit under the same tree we shared that night_ , he mused to himself. _It was plenty comfortable, just the right angle for leaning on, surrounded by nice soft moss. Really, quite a decent place to..._

 _What the bloody Hell?_

The clearing was right where he remembered it being, but something new had been added; something that had certainly not been there a few nights ago. A small, sturdy looking building took up almost half of the free space in the clearing, built with solid dirt covered walls, a lightly slanted roof, even openings for windows on the sides. The roof was clearly coated in some kind of slick muddy material, and the opening for the door boasted a full door frame, with a quite substantial looking door mounted on one side, though the door was currently ajar.

All other thoughts spiraled out of mind as Newt was overwhelmed with curiosity; he just couldn't stop himself from scooting over to the building and sidling over to the open door, trying to peer inside. Maybe the builders were trying out new techniques? The walls and roof were totally unlike any other building or hut he;d ever seen in the glade; what other new ideas, new tools would be inside? Inching over, he stuck his head around the door jamb, eager to see, to know. He didn't even fully consider the fact that the place might be occupied.

Greedily scanning the dwelling, he took in multiple things simultaneously. The ground had been dug down a couple of feet, the earth floor paved with smooth palm sized stones that must have come from the creek, and caulked with some lighter dry mud to form a fairly level, smooth surface. In the back corner stood a sizeable wooden frame, roughly lashed together and holding a thick pad made from coarse brown fabric of some kind. A large pile of the same fabric was heaped at the foot of the bed, along with two puffy burlap bags that he recognized as grain bags from their weekly deliveries. Against the wall adjacent to the bed was a long, kind of low wooden table, supporting a large gray basin of some kind and a single candle in a glass jar, casting a flickering light in the dim space. The light danced in the reddish brown hair of the figure standing there, with his back to the door.

Of course it was Adrian.

Drinking in the details of the sparse room, Newt hardly noticed when Adrian leaned over the stone bowl, though he did think that he heard the splashing sound of water. The man pulled his shirt off over his head in one quick gesture, rubbing it vigorously over his face as he straightened from the table. His voice rang clearly in the small space, gaining Newt's undivided attention instantly.

" _Y'know,_ **Sally** , your little habit of peeping on people is getting to be a tad bit _disturbing._ "

Flushing guiltily, Newt stepped around the door frame and into full view, almost stumbling as he came down the two wide earthen steps.

"I wasn't peeping, _**Mary,**_ least of all at you. What **is** this place? Where did this bloody house _come from?_ "

Adrian turned to face the boy properly, chuckling darkly. A spark of mischief twinkled in his eyes, and a slow, wicked smirk stole across his face.

"Well kid, I guess you can say I taught your little builder friends something very valuable the other day."

"What's that?" Newt asked, eagerly. Adrian's grin was sharp as a blade, and he answered with a cackle.

 **"Never bet against the house.** "

* * *

Author's note~ The song lyrics featured in this chapter are from Flawed Design, by Stabilo

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	19. Swear To It

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"Well kid, I guess you can say I taught your little builder friends something very valuable the other day."_

 _"What's that?" Newt asked, eagerly. Adrian's grin was sharp as a blade, and he answered with a cackle._

 _"Never bet against the house."_

* * *

Newt stared at Adrian, completely and utterly at a loss for words.

"They bet against a _house?_ What the bloody hell does that even mean?!"

Adrian shrugged easily, grabbing a fresh shirt off the bed and pulling it over his head in one efficient motion.

"It means that my buddy Gally and his gang of gorilla friends should do _more_ thinking and _less_ talking. I've been sharing information freely with them – and the rest of you – since I climbed out of that charming metal box. Still, they refused to believe that with a few basic resources, and a touch of sweat and effort, I could manufacture something as useful as concrete, or engineer a way to build a simple as a gravity drain pipe system for a primitive sink. We made a little wager, them and I. If I could make concrete, they'd dig and pave a floor, build the supports for a couple of walls for me. If I could make the sink and drain system, they'd mud the walls and put up a good solid roof – to my specifications. They lost on both accounts, as you can see." He gestured to the gray stone basin, inviting Newt to take a closer look.

Newt stepped up to the basin, reaching hesitant fingers out to tough the pale, rough surface. It wasn't perfectly circular, and the thickness lacked a certain uniformity, but the rudimentary sink was very obviously man made, and out of concrete no less. A carved wooden plug stopped the water from leaving the bowl; without bothering to ask, Newt reached into the water and pulled the plug. The water gurgled for about half a second before draining quickly and completely from the bowl – and not ending up on the floor. Fascinated, listening to the soft music of water trickling downwards, Newt leaned over and peered behind the sturdy wooden table, seeing what looked like joined clay pipes angling downwards and out through the bottom of the dwelling's wall. The set up was so simple, so ingenious, Newt couldn't believe that none of them had ever thought of it before. His eyes soft with wonder at the simple brilliance of it, Newt turned back to the man. Adrian smiled a little, commenting matter-of-factly.

"The sink and table top for the med-hut office have been poured and are dry; the clay pipes for drainage have been formed, dried and baked in the cook's fire. Tomorrow I'll install them and the new office will be open for business. Well, I would have put them in today, but I got a bit...distracted this afternoon."

Newt's attention slingshot back to the tense scene he'd witnessed earlier in the day, the anxiety, tension and anger surging back into him. Somehow, with the sheer novelty of the building seemingly appearing out of nowhere, and his amazement and pleasure over the new exciting advancements he'd seen inside, he'd been utterly derailed from his earlier miseries. As it came rushing back to him, he couldn't stop himself from bringing it up.

"By those slintheads that _dragged_ you into the woods and tried to kick the _klunk_ out of you?" He blurted. The man considered the boy, arching an eyebrow and failing to respond. After a moment of silence, the words came tumbling out of Newt's mouth, a cascade of anger, fear and blame, steadily rising in volume.

"I haven't seen you in days so I went by the med-hut to find you and all I see are a mess and **drag marks?!** I thought they were going to kill you! When I finally caught up, you were just standing there, taking their garbage, letting them pound the bloody snot out of you! Th-then you take them down, _easy as breathing_ , and tell them, tell them _there's no way out?!_ Not to threaten you because you're already de-dead?! _What the bloody hell?!"_

Newt turned away, furious, breath heaving and hitching in his throat.

"Newt." Adrian reached out a hand, putting it on the boy's shoulder. Newt knocked it aside, refusing to look at the man and trying to turn away, so Adrian took both trembling shoulders in his hands firmly, forcing the boy to face him.

"Newt. I didn't say there was no way out. I said there's no way out of this for me. There's still hope for you, for the other boys. There's always hope, always a chance -"

Newt's anger rose like a tsunami, crashing into his head with a thunderous roar. His arms felt as though they moved on their own, lifting and slamming out with all the force his body could muster, shoving the larger man back a full two steps.

 **"But no chance for you?! No hope for you?!"** Newt's head throbbed from the explosive level of his own voice, and even though he could clearly hear the accusation and hurt in his own voice, he couldn't stop the words. He felt oddly as though someone had stuffed his head full of straw, his chest full of stones. It had only been a week, one week since the greenie had arrived, battered and silent in the box. He'd lived here with the other boys for a year and a half, and yet in seven days time this frustrating, brilliant man had managed to worm his way in; Newt almost couldn't breathe at the thought of losing him. He was one of them; he was family. He felt like an older brother in a way that Newt had never felt for any of the other boys. **"You're just going to give up?! Because you're _ALREADY DEAD?!"_**

Adrian grabbed a fist full of the boys shirt and yanked, pulling him into a rough, tight embrace, heading off the hysteria rising in his voice. Newt stood stiff as a board, shaking so violently he felt his bones might crack from it. He could feel the strong, warm arms on his back, the rough scratchy texture of beard stubble from the man's chin on his forehead.

"Ease off, kid. Take a breath." Adrian's voice was calm, and just a little gruff. For some reason, that did more to sooth Newt's hurt and anger than any murmured platitudes ever could have. "I'm not going anywhere at the moment. And I'm not giving up, not yet."

Newt hesitantly lifted his arms, unsure of what to do. He settled for wrapping them around Adrian's waist in an awkward attempt at a hug. Still unable to look at him, Newt turned his face into the man's shoulder, and said the words that he couldn't force out face-to-face.

"I don't want you to go." His voice came out thin and very, very young. Adrian patted his back in sympathy.

"I know, kid. I don't want to go, either. But, the reality of the matter is, when my job here is done, when I've outlived my usefulness, I'm gone." Satisfied that the boy had calmed, he took those slender shoulders once again, easing Newt back and forcing him to look the man straight in the face. "But that doesn't mean that I'll be going down without a fight. I've got a lot I can teach you guys, and besides, _who knows?_ Maybe you and your friends will find a way out before I'm done, and I can escape with you."

" _You really think so?_ " The words were hardly a whisper, desperation and fear and hope, all rolled into one.

"There's always hope." Adrian assured, relieved when the boy's breathing and color began to return to normal. "We'll take it as it comes. I'm here with you now, kid, and I'll make you a deal. You try your best to keep your chin up, to hold onto hope, and I'll do my best to find a way to stay, or at least to stick around long enough to get out of here with the rest of you. Deal?"

Newt pulled back, just far enough to break contact. Embarrassed by his outburst, ashamed at acting like a little kid about the whole thing, he managed to slide a small, forced smile onto his face. He squared his shoulders and held his hand out to the man.

 _"Swear to it?"_

Adrian took the boy's hand firmly, giving a solid two-shake. His heart ached a little, but he said the words.

"You have my word."

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As evening turned into night Newt stayed with Adrian, seemingly reluctant to leave and let the man out of his sight. Adrian tried to keep things light, easy, explaining thoughts and plans for upgrades to the glade, projects he wanted to attempt, innovations for everything from cooking to cleaning to building. As the candle burned lower and lower, Adrian sat on the side of the bed and worked with needle and thread, making two large pouches from old burlap as Newt perched on the sink table and asked question after question. Adrian explained his lack of a crutch ( _still hurts, still a bit of a limp, but well on the way to being healed_ ), how to make cement ( _wood ash and clay, mixed with water)_ , how to make soap ( _ash and rendered fat, and yes, it works_ ). By the time Adrian had finished two roughly rectangular bags of the coarse cloth, Newt was visibly beginning to droop. Still he watched, fascinated, as Adrian opened one of the bulging grain bags to reveal a mound of fine grayish fluff.

"Feathers," The man explained, stuffing handful after handful into the pouches as Newt watched, "From the slicers. They had a whole mountain of them, from plucking birds for the kitchen." In a few short minutes and with another quick straight stitch, Adrian held up his final product, then tossed it at a delighted Newt, who caught it by reflex.

"A pillow!"

Adrian laughed at how easily impressed the boy was.

"Easy peasy, and using castoff materials. Look at what you have, and what you can make will amaze you."

Adrian quickly finished the second pillow, tossing it on the bed behind him as he got up to put the needle and thread on the long table. Newt hopped up to get out of the way and swayed, just a little, still holding the first pillow. Despite sleeping late, the long, emotionally charged day had left the boy drained. And yet, he didn't want to head back to his hammock with the rest of the boys; some small seed of anxiety over Adrian leaving was still lodged deep in the back of his mind.

Adrian could read the boy's exhaustion and uncertainty with ease; it was all but written on his face. Adrian sighed lightly, resigned, pulling his shirt off over his head and taking his music player out of his pocket.

"It's late, and if you're running tomorrow, you'll probably have to be up early. Might as well bunk here for the night."

"Here?" Newt furrowed his forehead, his tired mind not quite comprehending. Adrian gestured to the bed.

"There's more than enough room for both of us. If you want to head back, by all means, but I'm done in, and ready to hit the sack. Your choice."

When Newt hesitated, Adrian simply rolled his eyes, flopping down onto one side of the bed and putting one arm behind his head, plugging one bud from the player into his ear. "Whether you're staying here or not, I'm going to bed, Sally. Just don't take all night deciding. And blow out that candle, will you?"

Eyes bleary, Newt gave in, puffing the candle out in a single huffy breath. Feeling his way to the bed in the sudden darkness, he eased down onto the edge, slowly lowering himself down until he lay on his back, side by side with Adrian. The wide, firmly padded mattress felt like heaven. As he was settling in, Newt thought he heard Adrian muttering something about _staying on his own side of the bed_ , but he couldn't be sure. Then there was a long moment of glorious silence. Newt could feel the slight warmth from the man to his side, could hear his light, easy breathing. As he began to drift, secure in the house and the company of his friend, his family, he whispered two words into the dark.

"Thank you."

Newt was slipping under the surface, falling into the indigo of sleep. He didn't hear Adrian's murmured response.

" _Anytime, kid_."

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Adrian lay still, the boy deeply asleep beside him. He shuffled through the songs on his player idly, brooding over the events of the day. The promise he made lay heavy on him, and as though to taunt him, the player landed on one particular song.

 _ **I never**_

 _ **Said I'd lie and wait forever**_

 _ **If I died**_

 _ **We'd be together**_

 _ **I can't always just forget her**_

 _ **But she could try**_

 _ **At the end of the world**_

 _ **Or the last thing I see**_

 _ **You are never coming home, never coming home**_

 _ **Could I? Should I?**_

Adrian clicked the player off in irritation, pulling the bud from his ear and stuffing the whole thing under his pillow. Closing his eyes, forcing his mind to go blank, he willed himself to sleep.

* * *

Author's note ~

The song at the end of this chapter is **Ghost of You** by My Chemical Romance. See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	20. Minor Inconvenience

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Adrian clicked the player off in irritation, pulling the bud from his ear and stuffing the whole thing under his pillow. Closing his eyes, forcing his mind to go blank, he willed himself to sleep._

* * *

Adrian woke early the next morning, feeling tense and edgy, vaguely unsettled. The bed was comfortable and he was cozily warm, but amorphous, mildly threatening dreams had fluttered through his mind all night; never quite taking shape, but leaving him with an ominous feeling of foreboding that he couldn't quite shake as his brain worked its way to fully awake. Yawning hugely, his irritation at waking so early was derailed by the visitor in his bed. Careful not to wake the boy, Adrian slowly turned his head and looked at his bed-mate.

Of course the kid hadn't stayed on his own damn side.

Adrian was still in the same position he had fallen asleep in; flat on his back, arms tucked neatly under his head. Newt, on the other hand, had all but glued himself to the man's side; his head was tucked into Adrian's shoulder, his arm had a death grip on the man's waist. Adrian considered himself lucky that the boy's legs, wrapped like a vine around one of his own, was far enough south to not exacerbate his body's normal morning systems check; after a poor night's sleep, that awkward conversation was one Adrian was more than happy to skip.

Moving slowly, gently, it took a full five minutes for Adrian to wriggle, untangle and maneuver his way out of the boy's grip without waking him up. Finally managing, he slid out of bed and stretched vigorously, grabbing his cigarettes and silently stepping outside to relieve his bladder. The darkness of night hadn't yet fully yielded to the coming day; the very tip of the sun was only just peeking over the distant wall while Adrian leaned comfortably against the house and lit a smoke, enjoying the serenity and silence of the clearing, thinking and planning the day ahead.

 _Shouldn't take me long to finish up the office; all the pieces are ready, I just need to install. Couple of hours, tops, and it's done. Think I'll go visit the slicers again today. Why don't they keep birds instead of just killing them for meat? Maybe they don't understand that birds can lay eggs consistently, are an ongoing source of food instead of only an instant one? I can show them, then we'll see what comes next. Should probably talk to Alby, clear things up with 'fearless leader'. There's probably something that can be done to burn off some of this nervous energy, ease some of the tensions about me being here. I can feel the anxiety rolling off them in waves. It'll be good for them to get it out, let loose, relax. Newt too, and I swear to God, first chance I get, I'm making that kid a stuffed animal._

His thoughts were interrupted when Newt stumbled out of the house, tripping on the top step and barely managing to catch himself before he fell flat on his face. He looked around a little wildly, rubbing at the sleep still in his eyes, his voice rusty with it.

"Adrian?"

"Yeah, kid, 'morning."

Newt shook his head violently, scrubbing his hands through his wildly disordered hair and obviously trying to get his thoughts into something resembling sense.

"I got up and you weren't there, I thought..."

"Still here, kid. Still lots to do, remember? Speaking of that, hustle up, buttercup. Sun's mostly up, your day starts soon, doesn't it? Better get going."

Newt looked over to the rising sun, almost fully visible over the wall, blinking at it a few times in confusion. When he managed to process the sight, he turned and sprinted towards the woods, cursing as he went. Adrian chuckled to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette, the dregs of the dark dreams slipping fully away as he stepped back inside to get ready for his own day.

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The plus side of getting up before the crack of dawn, Adrian supposed, was that it definitely gave you a jump on the day. Not bothering with breakfast, he headed straight to the med-hut, rolling up his metaphorical sleeves. By the time the builders had arrived, he already had the clay pipes lined up and sealed with fresh clay at the overlapping seams, and was ready to install the sturdy frame to hold the wash basin and the table top. The boys trouped in silently, waiting almost politely for instructions. Adrian carefully gauged their expressions; three looked a little wary, one looked fairly chagrined, and the last looked down right embarrassed and visibly uncomfortable with a grossly swollen nose and two black eyes. He was obviously the leader from the day before. Adrian nodded his understanding, not bothering to comment.

Wasting no time, he set three boys to finishing up the building of the small stone and mortar wood stove that lay half finished in the corner of the office, showing them the basic technique required. The other two boys helped maneuver the wooden frame for the new basin table into place, dropping the legs into pre-dug holes and holding it steady as Adrian mixed up a small batch of cement and permanently fixed the table in place. With the extra hands, they made short work of settling the basin into place, putting on the carefully formed concrete slab counter top, and mortaring everything into place with yet more cement. When this was complete, they efficiently assembled a waist high table to serve and an exam bench while the others finished up the new wood stove. All in all, putting the finishing touches on the office took less than two hours, and Adrian was well pleased with the results. The boys worked hard, listening to corrections or instructions, and appeared to be learning the new skills quickly. Jeff walked into the room just as Adrian was giving them a well earned pat on the back.

"Congratulations, boys, you now have a fully functional medical office. This is going to make life a hell of a lot better for everyone here, guaranteed."

Most of the boys looked pleased with themselves, looking around and surveying all they had accomplished over the last few days. Other than Adrian's instructions, there had been very little chatter throughout the work; the boys remained focused on their tasks and didn't bother with conversation. As the builders turned to leave the building, Adrian held up a hand to detain the poor boy with the injured face.

"Hold on a minute. Why don't you let me take a look at that, since you're here anyways?"

The boy looked at him, incredulous.

"Are you _ **shucking kidding me?**_ Why would I put my face in your hands, you're the one who **broke** it!"

"And with good reason." Adrian replied, with an icy calm that dropped the temperature in the office by several degrees. The other builders stood by, watching with vapid interest. "But, _how_ it happened isn't the point; after yesterday, I believe you and I have come to an understanding. While the ointment I gave you last night will soothe some of the pain away, the swelling won't go down fully until I set that nose, and it'll take twice as long to heal it if it's left as it is. Plus, I don't like to see someone in pain, especially treatable or preventable pain." He patted the new exam table. "Hop on up here, let's get you fixed up."

The boy glanced around nervously, looking like he might just take a run for it instead of accepting treatment from the man. Before Adrian could say anything else, Jeff scoffed at the reluctant patient.

"Just get on the table, Hank, and don't be such a slinthead about it. If you're going to be a _**baby**_ about it, I'll let you hold _**my hand**_."

The other builders snickered at that comment and, stuck, unwilling to look like a coward in front of his friends, Hank hopped up on the table. Adrian nodded approval to the young medic, impressed with how he'd handled the situation.

"Alright Jeff, let's get this ugly mug squared away. Poppy tea to drink for the pain, chamomile tea to wash to soothe the inflammation, then we'll need some of the medical tape that came up with the supplies."

Hank shuddered at the orders, the thought of what might come next, but really, could it be worse than the pain he was in already?

As the others looked on, intrigued and mildly concerned for their pal, Adrian explained the basic technique for setting a broken nose. Allowing a few minutes for the tea to start to work, Adrian took Hank's head in his hands, placing his thumbs on either side of the swollen bridge of the nose.

"Hang tight, Hank. This is going to hurt."

Adrian firmly manipulated the bones and cartilage, ignoring Hank's yelp and moans of pain. Quickly, efficiently, he set the nose into the proper position before holding out a hand and accepting the chamomile soaked rag Jeff held out. He lay it over the boy's face and tilted his head back, leaving him to sit for a moment. Everyone heard Hank's sigh of relief as the cloth eased some of the swelling, and a good deal of the pain. Adrian demonstrated how to tape the nose next, and while Hank looked a mite bit ridiculous with the white medical tape over his nose and upper lip, the relief he felt was more than work the minor inconvenience. Adrian handed the boy another jar of the painkilling tea while Jeff put their supplies away, and Hank carefully felt his damaged face. The pain was already so much more bearable than it had been.

" _Thank you._ " He croaked, sounding a little unsure but completely sincere.

"You're welcome. Drink two swallows of that in the morning, two at night 'til it's gone. And try not to get into any more fistfights."

Hank laughed nervously, nodding his agreement as he slid off the table and scooted quickly out the door, the other builders following close behind.

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Around mid-day in the bowels of the maze, Newt stopped for a water break and a quick bite to eat. Minho slowed to a stop beside him, dropping into an easy crouch and leaning against the ivy covered wall at his back, watching as Newt pulled water bottles and apples from his pack. He passed one of each to Minho before chomping into his own apple with gusto. Minho raised a questioning eyebrow as the pale boy steadfastly demolished the snack.

"What's gotten into you lately?"

Confused, Newt hastily swallowed the last mouthful of fruit, pitching the core down the stone corridor.

"Whaddya you mean, Min?""

"One day, you're all _mopey_ , doing the job, but looking like someone klunked in your breakfast. The next, you're runnin' like a griever's on your tail, pushing _harder_ than I've ever seen you push before. What gives?"

Newt shrugged, mildly nonplussed by the conversation.

"I guess I was a little burnt before, losing hope. Some days I can't bloody stand it in here, Min, _that's the shuckin' truth._ Comin' on two years, and still no way out? It bloody well _wears_ on you."

Minho nodded, understanding completely. A sassy little smile curved his lips.

"Well, I guess if it's too much for you, too much work, you can always find something else to do. Maybe you can play _Nurse Nancy_ for your new boyfriend in the med-hut?"

Newt snorted, rolling his eyes at Minho's poor excuse for humor. Getting up briskly, he stuffed his water bottle back into the pack and looked down at his friend.

"Come on, let's get moving."

"Seriously, though, what changed?" Minho asked, getting to his feet but refusing to move until he got an answer. "What has you all fired up, _burstin_ ' at the seams, _gung-ho_ to go? Does it have anything to do with that new greenie?"

"Dunno, mate. Maybe I just needed a reminder as to why we're doing this. Something to remind me that there's still _hope._ "

Newt took off at a brisk jog, carrying on down the corridor in the direction they'd set that morning. Minho stared at his friend's back for a moment before kicking into gear himself, pouring on the speed to catch up. As he ran, he thought about the sudden change in Newt, the vast difference in attitude overnight. He wondered about the greenie, about the speculations of the other boys in the glade. Maybe it was time to meet this greenie himself, have a bit of a chat. Just in case.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adrian left Jeff at the med-hut, studying the information recorded in his trusty notebook. After skipping breakfast and working for half a day already, he was feeling the fangs of hunger gnawing in his belly. Grabbing a sizable portion of lunch, Adrian copped a table all to himself and set about single-mindedly devouring his meal as fast as he could. Just as he was finishing up, he noticed Alby approaching the dining area with a meal of his own, and a thought formed in his head. He hailed the leader over, inviting him to join his table. Alby came over without hesitation, settling himself across from the man.

"Well, greenie, how're you settling in? How's the med-hut coming?"

"Settled fine, Fearless Leader. The office in the med-hut is done; we finished it today, it's open for business."

"Really? That's great. No delays from that little... _disturbance_ yesterday?"

Adrian looked the boy right in the eye, contemplating the best response. Alby had obviously heard about what happened; lying would be foolish, counter-productive.

"It was a small delay, a minor inconvenience, but it's finished now."

Alby snorted, disgusted.

" _Inconvenience?_ From what I've been hearing, you were jumped by half a dozen of the guys, had the **klunk** kicked out of you. You could've been seriously injured; they would've _killed_ you, from the sound of it. And they broke one of our most important rules! They should pay for their actions! How is all that a _minor inconvenience?_ "

"Because could-a should-a would-a's are **bullshit** at best. Yeah, I've got a couple of bruises from that little 'do'. Well, so do they. If they did it out of spite, or malice, yeah, I'd say kick their asses for it. But they acted out of fear and, what they thought was, self-preservation. Everyone's amped up, Alby, tense and twitchy and nervous because of _**me**_. I'm not going to hold it against them."

"So what do you suggest?" Alby demanded, exasperated, " **No** consequences for what they've done? ' _NEVER HARM ANOTHER GLADER'_ That's the rule we **have** to live by! Breaking it is punishable by banishment!"

"I get that, Alby." Adrian sighed. "And yeah, maybe there should be consequences. But they don't deserve to die for being _scared, stupid boys_ that made a _bad choice_."

Alby studied the man, the cogs in his mind turning as he tried to come up with some kind of reasonable compromise. After all, he didn't really want to sentence anyone to death if there was any other option.

"Well, I _guess_ a couple of nights in the pit, no food or water, and a week or two of dirty work with the sloppers might serve as an acceptable warning to the others. Just in case they get any ideas about working off some of that nervous energy with brawls of their own. What they, and everyone else actually, _really_ need is an outlet, some way to let off steam."

"Actually, I have an idea about that." Adrian grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at the blank stare on the dark boy's face.

* * *

Author's note ~ What stuffed animal should Adrian make for Newt? Hmmm, I wonder.

See you next chapter.

~Ruby


	21. Waste Not, Want Not

Author's note ~ Bit of a long one this time. I hope you enjoy

* * *

 _"Actually, I have an idea about that." Adrian grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at the blank stare on the dark boy's face._

* * *

The runners trouped into the dining area, tired, sore, and thoroughly famished. Newt personally felt like he could eat the better part of a cow, and still have room for a chicken or two afterwards. Though he hadn't garnered any new information from the day's run, he still felt like it had been a productive day. The positive feeling, after so many months of returning dejected at the end of the day, had Newt in almost a euphoric state as he lined up behind the others to get his meal. He noticed right away that Adrian was already at a table, and he appeared to be having an intense conversation with Alby, Fynn (the keeper of the sloppers), and Gally, of all people. The little group broke up as Newt approached the table with Minho close behind, both boys dropping quickly into seats and immediately starting to scarf down their food. Adrian sat quietly, seemingly deep in thought, turning drinking jar of water in slow, repetitive circles. Newt was almost finished when Jeff joined them, dropping a small cloth wrapped bundle on the table in front of Adrian. Minho studied the man curiously, a calculating look in his eye as he polished off his own meal.

"Thanks man." Adrian said absently, not looking up and still playing with the jar.

Newt leaned back, satisfied but feeling a little overstuffed after eating such a sizable meal so quickly. He shoved his limp, sweaty, straw colored hair out of his face, idly wishing he'd taken the time to tie it back that morning. Eyeing the man across from him, Newt couldn't decipher the odd look on his face.

"So, what did you get up to today, greenie?"

Coming back to reality, Adrian set the glass aside, sighing a little internally at the irritating title he'd been saddled with.

"Got the office all finished up, so that's one thing taken care of. Showed Jeff here how to set a broken nose, so that's another feather in his cap, so to speak. I was thinking about spending a chunk of the day with the slicers but Alby caught up to me at lunch, wanted to chat. Ended up in a meeting with him, and others, here for the rest of the day. Not exactly what I'd planned for the day, but productive, none the less."

"You've been here _since lunch?_ " Minho asked, a little sardonically. "How _terribly_ taxing that must have been for you. Such **hard work** , you must be exhausted. Do you need to lie down?"

Knowing the best way to deflect Minho's sarcasm was to simply ignore it, Newt did just that.

"What's up with Alby?"

Adrian only smiled, looking over his shoulder at the front of the dining area where the sturdy leader was standing silently, scanning the tables as though looking for something. The dark boy nodded to himself as the confirmed that everyone was accounted for.

"Listen up!" While Alby pitched his voice over the general din, he didn't shout; he didn't have to. Within seconds, the silence was complete as every head turned to look at their leader.

"I'm aware that there was a bit of a disagreement between some of you and the new greenie, Adrian, the other day." Several boys shuffled nervously at their tables, looking away from the boy who held everyone's attention. "After reviewing the situation, I've decided that punishment is in order, though I've been...convinced to apply a bit of leniency. To the six of you slintheads involved in the scuffle, meet me at the pit at dusk; you've earned yourselves a two day vacation. When you've done your time there, you get two weeks working with the sloppers. I'm sure Fynn could use a hand with the dirty work." There were mutters from the crowd, and a couple of groans from the boys involved; they'd thought that they'd managed to avoid repercussions for their rash actions. Still, the punishment outlined was by far preferable to receiving a death sentence. Alby once again cut through the noise.

"You earned worse, and you know it. You'll take your shucking lumps, and you'll do it without whining about it. You break the rules, you pay for it. That's how it works. That goes for the rest of you, too, so you best be remembering it. I won't be inclined to show mercy a second time." Giving them a moment for that to sink in, the boy watched the group intently, pleased to see they understood the poorly veiled threat. Satisfied, he moved on to a happier subject.

"Now that that's dealt with, I have another announcement. Things around here have been more than a little tense, lately, and everyone's on edge. It's time to take a breather from the stress I know you're all feeling. In **two day's time** , we are going to throw an all out, all in, all night party!"

A stunned silence descended over the boys as they looked at each other, then back to their grinning leader. One voice shouted out from the crowd.

"A _party?_ Why the _shuck_ would we throw a _**party?** **!**_ "

"Look, we've been stuck up here by a bunch of slintheads, trapped in here for weeks, months, years. We've learned to run the maze, build our own shelters, grow our own food. We've survived. And you know what? It's about shucking time we celebrated that! They've taken our memories, _but they can't take our spirit!_ They've locked us in, _but they can't put us down!_ Lets show them that they haven't broken us, that they'll **NEVER** break us! I say **_SHUCK_** them, _ **let's PARTY!"**_

The boys, roused by Alby's strong words, stood and cheered, hooting and hollering with the sheer pleasure of the idea of taking a strike, no matter how small, against their captors.

As the boys laughed and talked excitedly, Adrian silently rose from his place at the table and made his way to where Alby was standing at the front of the assembly. With all the commotion, Newt didn't even realize he was gone until he was standing right beside the smugly grinning leader. Seeing the man appear at the head of the dining room, voices quickly fell into hushed mutters as the boys waited to see what the newcomer had to add to the exciting announcement.

"While everyone is here, I figured I might as well use the opportunity to let you in on a couple of things." Adrian stated. An irritated buzz of muttering rippled through the boys. "Firstly, everyone should take a minute in the next couple of days and thank the builders for busting their asses on the med-hut office; there's no way it would have been finished so quickly without them." Several approving yells rang out above the din and Gally, to a chorus of wolf whistles and snickering, stood and took an exaggerated bow. "Great job, guys. Really." Another bow, accompanied by a clearly condescending wave and cheesy grin before Gally sat back down. "Now, the office we've built is designed, intended, and _exclusively_ for serious illnesses or injuries; it's a place of life and death, and a major tool for our Med-Jack. While I hope none of you will ever have to be treated in there, I do have to ask that you don't go in there if you aren't bleeding from the head or sporting broken bones. Some of the equipment and supplies are delicate, and who knows if they'll ever send us replacements if these ones get trashed. So, unless Jeff, or I, I suppose, okays it, _stay the hell out of the office_. Or you may just end up needing it, after all."

Some mutters, some nervous chuckles, but no outright defiance from the boys.

"One last thing. Looking out at you all, I see dozens of smart, resilient, hard-working boys, strong even in the face of the awful circumstances you've faced since you were trapped here. I also see dozens of ratty, wild, scruffy buggers that even the damn cat wouldn't bother to drag in."

"Hey!"

" _You ain't so pretty yourself, shuckface!_ "

 _ **"Sorry,**_ didn't know tonight's dinner was supposed to be _**formal!**_ "

"In light of the upcoming party," Adrian shouted over the mildly outraged rapid fire defenses and insults hurled his way, "I figured some or most of you might want to get yourselves tidied up a bit. Long hair can be such a pain in the ass, and while the clothes may make the man, a decent hair cut can seriously improve your mood; make you feel a bit less like a caveman. Anyone wanting to shed some extra, to feel less like a prisoner and more like just a regular dude, come see me at my table on the other end of the hall; I'll have you looking like a new man in no time."

Adrian turned and walked briskly back to his table, ignoring the chatter rising from the gathered boys. When he reached his table mates Jeff didn't look at all surprised by Adrian's unexpected offer, but both Newt and Minho were staring at Adrian with 'what the hell' looks on their faces. Newt's forehead was scrunched up as though Adrian had just announced that two plus two is five, but Minho at least seemed to be considering the offer, a bit of calculation in his eyes. Both started talking at the same time.

"Really greenie? Haircuts? How the hell is that any kind of priority when -"

"Well, it _might_ be nice to not look like your cousin Annie anymore."

Newt looked at Minho, shocked at his instant acceptance of the unorthodox service. As long as he'd known the keeper of the runners, his thick black hair had been tied down in half a dozen tight, neat cornrows and gathered into a little stub of a tail at the back. Once, long ago, Newt had made the mistake of asking Minho how he always managed to keep his flawless hairstyle despite the rigors of running all day. The boy's deeply cutting and obviously sarcastic offer to braid the junior runner's hair like the princess he was had deterred Newt from ever asking again, though he occasionally wondered.

" _Really Min?_ "

"Why not," Minho shrugged casually. "I certainly wouldn't mind something a bit more low-maintenance."

"No doubt," Adrian agreed cheerfully. "Stay put, I'll fix you up."

Adrian opened up the small cloth wrapped bundle that Jeff had brought him earlier, revealing a small silver pair of scissors and a bag of dozens and dozens of various elastic bands, obviously unearthed from on of the miscellaneous supply boxes. Without bothering to explain, he made short work of untying Minho's carefully coiffured locks and retying the shoulder length tresses into a few strategically placed pony tails. Watching curiously, Newt heard a chorus of snickers from behind him and turned, seeing a small crowd had gathered. While the tails looked ridiculous on the proud asian boy, their purpose became obvious as Adrian picked up the scissors and ruthlessly chopped them off, laying the neat little tails on the table in a sleek dark pile. When all the tails were removed, Adrian ran his fingers through the short, wild, chopping mess left behind. Working smoothly, competently, he trimmed the sides and back of Minho's hair to a buzz cut short length, and the top just a little longer, giving the boy a nicely polished, even stylish new look in hardly more than a matter of minutes.

When Minho stood up and turned around, the other boys couldn't help but exclaim at the difference. Adrian held up an empty tin plate from the table, bottom towards the keeper, so he could see his reflection in the dully polished bottom of the dish. Minho reached up with both hands, running them through the short, easy do, then shook his head in mock-frustration, a big grin on his face.

"But I **said** I wanted curls! Don't you do perms?"

The other boys laughed, jostling each other a bit as they tried to get to the front of the group, suddenly eager after seeing the positive results in front of their own eyes.

"Alright lads, listen up. Anyone who wants a trim, sit down in a line here on the bench, back to me. I'll go down the line and clip you. Jeff, wanna give me a hand here?"

The med-jack was agreeable, so Adrian showed him where and how to separate a head of hair into properly placed tails, set him the task of going down the line and prepping heads while he focused on the actually cutting and styling himself; he gave some boys almost military short cuts and leaving others with a longer shaggy style. Working together the work went fairly quickly, and Adrian had worked through five or six more boys before he recognized the dark blonde head of pony tails that was his next 'client'.

"Here and I thought you'd decided that haircuts weren't a _priority."_ Adrian teased Newt, snipping away efficiently. Newt shrugged.

"They aren't. But, what the hell, might as well. One less thing to fight with every morning."

"Oh, _sweetheart_ , having problems with your beauty routine? Need some make up tips?"

"Sure, _Mary_ , if you have time. Seeing as you're apparently a consulting style expert, now. You're awfully good at it, you sure you weren't some posh stylist before you got here?"

Adrian had a vivid, and unpleasant flash of himself in a tight fitting white jumpsuit with a silky purple robe over top, sporting a cheesy grin and healed boots as he simpered to overweight middle aged women about their clothing choices and skin care routine. He shuddered, damning his active imagination.

"Word to the wise, **Sally,** " He grumbled, "If you insult the guy with the scissors in you hair you run the risk of going to bed bald."

" _You wouldn't._ "

"It's only hair," Adrian said easily, grinning at the clear warning in the boy's voice. "It grows back."

" **Adrian!** "

"There you be darlin', all done. You might want to find a hat, your head might get a tad... _ **cold**_ for a couple of days. I'd love to stay and chat, but clients to see, work to do. _Enjoy!_ "

Newt stood up in a hurry, frantically patting his head as the man laughed at him. Relief flooded through him when he felt the three inch crop of hair that covered his skull. A little irritated at the man, a bit embarrassed at his panicked reaction to the joke, Newt stalked off towards the forest, leaving Adrian to his scissors, deciding a little walk would help his settle down.

It was twilight by the time Adrian finished trimming the hair on the last boy; all said and done, he'd clipped more than two dozen boys, finishing up with his trusty side-kick Jeff, carefully clipping his frizzy curls to a more manageable length. Tired from standing for in one position so long, his leg achy from the strain, his ribs throbbing painfully from bending; he was more than willing to call it a night. He sat down with a groan, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply, massaging his almost healed leg lightly. Jeff could see the man's fatigue, his pallor, he spoke up.

"Why don't you head home, Adrian, get some sleep. I can clean up here, get rid of all these tails, get the scissors cleaned like you showed me and put away."

"I'd appreciate it, Jeff. I'm done in. Don't throw the tails out though, lay them in a box and leave them at the med-hut for me; I'll get them tomorrow."

"What **on earth** are you going to do with dozens of little pony tails?" Jeff asked, flabbergasted.

"You never know, man. Waste not, want not. I may yet find a use for them."

Bidding the boy a good night, Adrian wasted no time getting back to his little house, barely taking the time to rinse his hands and face at his little sink before blowing out his candle, stripping off his shirt and all but collapsing onto his bed. Laying spread eagle, he sighed in near ecstasy. Putting on his music play, he turned the volume on low and let the music soothe him to sleep.

 _ **Broken frames**_

 _ **So dark inside**_

 _ **Faces mismatched**_

 _ **Trickle out in a line**_

 _ **Waves of shadows**_

 _ **Scattered dreams**_

 _ **Where are you?**_

 _ **Where are you?**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Running. Running, running, running. Fully dark in the shadows of the trees, Newt could hear the fast footsteps behind him, the muffled laughter vaguely sinister in the otherwise silent forest. His heart beat rapidly, his panting breaths too loud in the dark. He crashed through the underbrush, tore through the reaching arms of branches, jumped fallen logs in his urgent flight. Just a little further. Just have to get back to the buildings – and the safety – of the center of the glade. He heard one of his pursuers try to circle around on his left, cut him off from his goal. He poured more speed on, feeling like his heart might explode from the effort. He could see the trees thinning ahead...

A figure stepped out of the shadows, directly in his path. Newt stifled a cry of shock and dismay, skidding to a stop, muscles bunching to execute a quick about-face...

"What, don't you get enough during the day Newtie? What the shuck are you doing running through the bush like a shuckin' gazelle?"

"Minho!" Newt gasped, bending from the waist and trying to catch his breath.

"Who did you expect, _the Easter Bunny?_ What the hell's going on, Newt?"

Newt just shook his head, swiping at the sweat on his face and feeling a prickling burn in the back of his eyes; tears of relief that he refused to shed in front of his old friend. Straightening, looking Minho right in the face, he had no qualms about lying.

"Thought I saw something, bloody spooked myself. I'm alright now, Min."

"Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf?" Minho sniggered, then suddenly sobered up. "Well, c'mon, early day tomorrow. Better get your beauty sleep while you can. Most of the guys are in bed already; we'll protect you from the boogey man."

Newt fell into step beside his friend, his heart rate beginning to slow to a more reasonable beat. He accepted Minho's teasing without comment, chanting one word over and over in his head as they cleared the trees and headed towards their hammocks.

 _Safe. Safe safe safe._

The forest behind them was silent now, no crashing footsteps or rustling foliage betrayed the hunters as they slipped away into the night, their hunt thwarted.

For now.

* * *

Author's note~ The song in this chapter is **Betty Steeles - Where Are You?** from the move Malice in Wonderland. Crappy movie, though; that song is really the only worthwhile thing about it.

Anywho. See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	22. Minnie

Author's Note ~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _The forest behind them was silent now, no crashing footsteps or rustling foliage betrayed the hunters as they slipped away into the night, their hunt thwarted._

 _For now._

* * *

Excitement lay thick in the glade as the boys worked eagerly, preparing for the much anticipated party. Adrian and Alby worked together, plotting and planning as they directed the boys to clear a large area in the center of the glade, gather mammoth piles of firewood and cart supplies out from storage. Alby supervised the building of a large stone lined circular fire pit right in the middle of the newly cleared space, while Adrian spent most of the morning and early afternoon helping the sloppers and track-hos create a wrestling ring; a rough oval, about twenty feet across. After digging it down about a foot, they made trip after trip to the edge of the stream, bringing up dozens and dozens of buckets of fine clean sand. By the time the runners returned for the day and everyone was ready for a meal break, the central common area was almost unrecognizable; the sparse, dull area had already been transformed into a clear gathering spot. When the benches, tables, and various other comforts were built and placed tomorrow, it would truly be a space worthy of holding their great celebration.

Newt and Minho, having admired the changes to the space as they passed by on their way to dinner, accepted their plates from Frypan and sought out Adrian in the busy dining area, eager for news about the party preparations. The man was sitting with a handful of sloppers, puffing on a cigarette and smiling, gesturing widely as he explained something and the boys with him laughed and shoved at each other. The tiniest spark of irritation lit in Newt's gut at the sight, although he had no idea why. Plopping into a seat, he grunted a greeting to the man and fastidiously applied himself to his dinner. Minho spared Newt a quizzical glance before taking his own seat, looking across at the man and crinkling his nose.

"Do you **have** to do that here? It smells like week old socks. You'll put me off my stew."

"You joined **my** table," Adrian reminded, taking another deep, satisfying pull on his cigarette. "I didn't twist your arm to get you here. But, if it bothers you so much, I'll take myself elsewhere. There are a few things I'd like to finish up tonight." When he stood the sloppers stood with him, still laughing amongst themselves. As the group of them started to head off, Newt hastily swallowed his mouth full of stew and called out to the man.

" **Oi, Adrian!** "

The man stopped for a moment, turning and looking back at the table.

"Yeah?"

Newt hesitated a little, not exactly sure what to say.

"D'you mind if I...pop by...later on?"

Adrian lifted a brow, but shrugged amiably.

"Whatever you like, kid. You know where to find me."

So saying he turned and left with the others, wandering in the direction of the gathering space. Newt shot Minho a dirty look as he shoved his empty plate away from him, shaking his head when his friend just rolled his eyes.

"What was that about?"

Though a little gleam of mischief glittered clearly in his eyes, Minho did his best to look innocent.

"What d'you mean, Newtie? I didn't do anything at all!"

"You basically told him to piss off, Min." Newt retorted, exasperated. "I was at least hoping for a bloody update before he faffed off to keep working with those _other shanks_!"

"Well then," Minho said sweetly, "I guess it's a good thing you two made a date for later then, isn't it? You can get your... _update_ tonight. Just don't stay up too late _updating_ each other, we do have a full day of running tomorrow before the party."

Newt groaned at the badly-veiled innuendo, and Minho's bawdy smirk.

"Y'know, some days I bloody _hate_ you, Min."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was late evening when Newt walked up to the little cabin in the woods. He stood at the door, shuffling his feet a little before he lifted his hand to knock on the door. Before his knuckles could connect with the wood, a voice called out from inside.

" _It's open!_ "

Newt huffed out a breath, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

"How do you **do** that?" He demanded.

Adrian chuckled, not even bothering to turn to the boy, just continuing to firmly lash a wooden frame together with his back to the door.

"You're not exactly subtle, kid. You tend to walk like a small elephant; I'd have to be deaf as a post to not hear you coming."

"And another thing," Newt griped moodily. "Why do you keep calling me kid? _Kid_ this, _kid_ that. You call Jeff _'man'_ , you call the guys _'guy'_ or ' _gentlemen'_ , why am I ' _kid'?_!"

"Well seeing as you're, what, all of twelve years old -"

"I'm not **twelve!** I'm at least _**sixteen**_ you bloody **slinthead!** "

"Ooooooh, well pardon me all to hell. In that case, you're practically ancient. I'll try to remember to show the vast depths of my respect. Kid. Now, give me a hand here, would you?"

Face flushed with irritation, Newt grumbled mutinously as he stepped over and grabbed the opposite end of the frame the man was working on. In one smooth motion they flipped the heavy wooden piece over, setting it down on four stubby little legs, and it became apparent all at once what it was meant to be.

"A bench? Why do you need a bench in here?"

"Not a bench," Adrian corrected, pointing at a large pile or dried grass and moss on the floor by his bed, and a handful of rectangular pieces of burlap, clear stitching on the sides.

"Grass? Planning on moving a couple of the pigs in here with you?"

Adrian sighed, wishing for patience. _God save me from the attempted wit of teenage boys_.

"No, you ass. This is why I'm trying to drill into your thick heads to think outside the box, look at what you have and find a new way to use it. Watch and see."

Under Newt's doubtful eyes, Adrian made short work of stuffing the burlap cases he had made with the grass and moss, slip stitching the openings and punching the stuffing into shape to form four largish cushions. Newt peppered him with questions about the work the gladers had accomplished that day and Adrian answered absently, focused on his project. He sewed a long strip of extra burlap, folded in half, to four places on the flat bottoms of each cushion. When he was finished, he efficiently fitted the cushions onto the frame; two along the seat and two along the back, tying them in place securely. Patting the seat of his new couch with satisfaction, he walked back to his bed and picked up the two extra feather pillows he'd made that morning before breakfast, tucking them into the corners of the couch to form armrests. He motioned Newt forward.

"Go ahead, try it out."

The boy flopped down onto the padded seat, making Adrian laugh as he screwed up his face in concentration and bounced in place a little, wiggling his behind on the cushion. Leaning back, he sighed deeply.

"Alright, I admit it. This is a pretty great bench."

"I'm glad you like it, especially since that'll be where you're sleeping the next time you crash here."

"You said the bed was big enough for the **both** of us. What's with the _**sudden change of mind?**_ " Newt demanded, embarrassed to ask, and a little hurt by the sudden proclamation.

"Nah, the bed's plenty big. Nothing personal, kid." Adrian assured, thinking fast to try and find an explanation that wouldn't bruise the boy's feelings; he figured it wouldn't be terribly tactful to mention that he found it a bit awkward waking up with a sixteen year old boy snuggled up to him like a house cat. "I just really value my personal space; I don't sleep well with anyone else in my bed, it's not just you. Although, you **DO** snore."

" ** _I don't snore!_** " Newt said indignantly, a small smile threatening to peek through.

"Like a thunder storm." Adrian confirmed, relieved that the potentially tense situation had been diffused. "It's a wonder the other guys haven't smothered you in your sleep yet. Anyway, trust me, we'll both be more comfortable this way."

"Yeah, okay, whatever." Newt said dismissively, waving off the teasing and platitudes with an eye roll and a smirk.

"I've made a couple of other changes since the last time you were here. Take a look around." Adrian invited, gesturing at the rest of the space before turning to clean up his tools and left over supplies.

Newt wandered, checking out the candle lit space freely as the man tidied up. He examined the new shutters at the windows, thin straight branches that had been secured to a frame which was in turn secured to the windows with tightly knotted twine. Newt opened and closed them a few times, admiring the ingenious use of rope to form working hinges. He looked over a new small wooden table that had appeared against the wall opposite the new couch, complete with three horizontal shelves for storage. He was just admiring a long, thin shelf that had been secured to the wall with pegs when he heard Adrian flop down on the bed, yawning hugely. He turned to the man, a little puzzled.

"How did you find the time to do all this in the last couple of days? You finished the office, met with Alby, did haircuts for everyone yesterday. You worked like a dog today, helping to get things ready for tomorrow. When you you have the time?"

"When you know what you're doing, things like this are small potatoes. They don't take much time to put together, once you have the supplies." Adrian explained modestly, then grimaced a little. "Although, getting up at the friggin' _crack of dawn_ a couple days in a row doesn't hurt either."

He scooted down from his mostly reclined position until he lay flat on his back, sighing happily and closing his eyes to half mast. "Which reminds me; I'm done in, half asleep already. Tomorrow should be a full day for both of us. You're welcome to crash there on the couch or head back to your own bunk, but either way, I'm out."

"I'll stay." Newt said, just a tad too quickly, though Adrian didn't comment on the hasty reply. Newt got up and blew out the candles, feeling his way back to the couch in the utter darkness of the room. Laying back on the ample cushions, Newt easily made himself comfortable. It was a little strange to be here and not on the bed beside the man, but he told himself that having separate sleeping areas was better for both of them. And at least he wouldn't have to wake the man at first light, just because he himself had to get up to run. Rolling over and snuggling in, he felt a sudden surge of gratitude; when sleeping beside the boy wasn't working for him, it would have been far easier for Adrian to simply send Newt back to his own bed. Instead, he had spent the time and effort to build a whole other piece of furniture, so Newt didn't have to leave. Struck by the kindness of the gesture, Newt called softly into the dark.

"Hey Adrian?"

A sleepy grunt came from the back of the room. Newt said the words before he could change his mind.

"Thank you. For not telling me to go. For letting me stay. For making this bench so I **CAN** stay. _Thank you._ "

"You're welcome." The man's voice slurred. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

"Yeah. Adrian?"

 **"For Christ's sake, what?"**

"Goodnight."

Adrian just grunted, grabbing his pillow and pulling it fully over his head. Newt closed his eyes and started to drift off, a small smile on his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day all but flew by; the runners ran blindly, filled with anticipation of the evening's event, and those in the glade rushed around frantically, working feverishly to finish all the tasks set to them by Alby and the keepers. Adrian spent most of the morning in the kitchen with Frypan, chopping and mixing and prepping a mountain of food for that evening, while constantly handing out sandwiches and snacks to the army of hungry boys rushing about. When Minho lead the runners back into the glade around mid-afternoon, cutting their work day short due more to the lack of attention from his runners than consideration for the night's festivities, the excited boys trouped back into the glad to find...silence. Looking around, the place was conspicuously deserted.

Glancing at each other nervously, the small group cautiously made their way towards the center of the glade. The fields, the sleeping areas, the dining area, all empty. Delicious smells were wafting out of the cook hut, something sweet and tangy, different than anything they had ever smelled before, but Frypan was no where to be found. Their unease rising, they started towards the far side of the glade, keeping close to each other and moving silently. After a few tense minutes of walking, they started to hear something coming from the direction of the stream; voices, raised and...happy. A smattering of laughter momentarily drowned out the talk. Rolling his eyes, Minho waved the others forward and proceeded towards the water, the tension draining out of his shoulders as he picked up the pace. When he made it to the small sandy bank, his jaw almost dropped at the sight before him.

Every boy left in the glade was currently naked, hooting and hollering, and splashing around in the river like a ten year old. Clothing was scattered all over the bank, as though they had literally exploded out of their garments in their haste to get in the water. Even Alby was in on the fun; Minho watched as their solemn, serious leader swamped an unsuspecting Jeff with a veritable tidal wave of a splash, laughing like a lunatic at the inevitable splash of retaliation that was aimed his way. His runners gave one delighted shout from beside him before sprinting towards the water, tugging their clothes off and tossing them aside as they splashed into the small river to a chorus of shouts and laughter from the rest of the gladers. Minho just shook his head.

"What the actual shuck?"

"I suggested Alby cut 'em loose early."

Minho turned toward the voice; Adrian was leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette, his hair and body still glistening wet. When Minho cocked an eyebrow, Adrian just shrugged, looking out at the chaos and smiling a little.

"They've all been working like dogs. I figured they could use a little down time before the celebration. Plus, no offense, but a wash wouldn't kill them either. Two days of bustin' ass? The BO was **outrageous."**

Minho snorted, gesturing at the rambunctious actions in front of them.

"A wash? Look at those slintheads; their acting like little kids!"

Adrian's grin widened; he crushed out his cigarette on the trunk of the tree and waved towards the water. "And you're much _too mature_ for that, eh Minho? What's the matter, think a little water's going to _muss up your new do_? **Afraid** you couldn't hold your own in a splash war?"

Even knowing he was being baited, Minho couldn't resist rising to the challenge. He methodically stripped off his clothes as the man waited, a gleam of victory in his eyes. They began wading in together, each eyeing the other speculatively. "What about you; why were you on the sidelines? Afraid one of us young bucks is going to take you down, old man?"

"I'd love to see you try, _**Minnie.**_ "

The man knew the move was coming, but made no attempt to dodge as Minho tackled him with one quick lunge, dunking them both with a humongous splash as the others cheered and jeered.

* * *

Author's note~ Next chapter; P-A-R-T-Why? Because we gotta!

~Ruby


	23. The Drums

Author's note~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _The man knew the move was coming, but made no attempt to dodge as Minho tackled him with one quick lunge, dunking them both with a humongous splash as the others cheered and jeered._

* * *

They spent a blissful couple of hours playing in the water, indulging in the rare opportunity to frolic and laugh and just...be teenagers. The sun had already started to dip low towards the horizon by the time the last few stragglers abandoned the creek and dried off, wandering towards the newly created event space with eager anticipation and empty, growling stomachs.

The smells emanating from the large cooking fire were almost maddening; mouths watered as Frypan turned multiple spits of fat juicy birds, their skins shining with a thick layer of brownish sauce. When it was determined that everyone was present and accounted for, the cook began filling rough platters with the roasted birds, carrying them to a long low table that was already loaded with mounds of fresh bread and bowls of creamy potato salad. A reverent hush fell as the boys waited, antsy, staring at the glorious buffet before them as though they were looking upon the face of some exquisite deity. Frypan stepped off to the side, waving towards the spread he'd laid out and bowing a little.

 **"Let the feast begin!"** He called out before, wisely, getting the hell out of the way.

It was more than a little chaotic as the boys rushed the table in a veritable stampede, jostling each other in their near desperation to reach the succulent offerings. Despite their ravenous hunger, there was plenty of food to go around. Once everyone had managed to fill a plate another hush fell; that of a hungry hoard busily devouring their hard earned feast. The crackling of the fire was soon joined by sounds of pleasure, grunts and groans escaping between bites as the boys ate to their heart's content.

" _My God_ Frypan!" Ben exclaimed, the words a little garbled by his full mouth. "This is _the best_ shucking chicken you've ever made!"

Others shouted their agreement, gushing praise over the chicken, the salad, even the soft flaky bread. Frypan just nodded, a satisfied smile on his face as he glanced over to where Adrian stood with Alby, obviously going over last minute details with the leader as they enjoyed their meals at a more leisurely pace. After everyone had had their fill they started to mill around, unsure as to what would happen next, eventually gathering in a loose semicircle around a large wooden figure most had barely glanced at in their earlier desperation for sustenance.

Studying it, puzzled chuckles started to spread as it became apparent that the twenty five foot tall wooden structure had been fashioned into a crude likeness of a person. One arm was braced on a rough hip, while the other was outstretched and pointing, as if in accusation or an attempt to intimidate. Even in the poor lighting the wood glistened a little, as though it had been doused with something, and the figure started looking more and more menacing the longer one stared at it.

Alby walked to the middle of the semicircle of boys, facing them, standing right in front of the figure. The low light from the embers of the cooking fire threw ghoulish red light across his face in the steadily growing darkness.

"A year and a half ago the first of us were sent up into this strange, primitive, hostile place. We were given food and tools, clothing and bedding. And we were _trapped_ , exiled here in this small patch of green surrounded by impassable stone walls; walls that held back an even darker, more merciless horror than any we could ever have imagined."

Everyone stood, utterly transfixed as they listened to their leader's calm, reasonable iteration of their history.

"In the beginning, things were dark for us. Fear ran freely through us. Boys fought against one another, anarchy running wild. Lives were lost."

Alby looked down, taking a moment for all of those who were gone. The rest of the gladers joined him, taking the time to bow their heads and show respect for all those who had come and gone from this hideous place. It didn't matter if a glader knew the lost ones or not; every death here was unforgivable. Alby continued.

"Once we finally stopped fighting each other, started working together to build and harvest, to start looking for a way out, life here got so much more bearable. So much better for us. United under a good leader, one of the lost, we learned to share to work, to stand together. It was then that we became **GLADERS!"**

The boys shouted in approval, and Alby's wide, fierce grin shone white as the moon against the pressing dark of night.

"Now, we get better every day. _Stronger_ , every day. Our runners explore and map more and more of the maze, every day. And one day, they'll be the ones that lead us out of here, to **FREEDOM!** "

The boys roared now, and there was a round of shoving and back slapping.

"And until then, until that day? We'll only **keep** getting better, keep getting **stronger!** "

Adrian appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and handed the boy a brightly burning torch. The leader stood; fearless, defiant, powerful as he lifted the flames high above his head, all but shouting now.

"And one day, **ONE DAY!** We'll show them just how strong we've become! How strong they've _**made**_ us become! And that day, when we run, we run right to them! And I say now, the shuck-faced cowards that trapped us here should _fear that day!_ "

He whirled around to face the wooden effigy, brandishing the burning brand, the gathered boys behind him all but howling now.

"Because the minute we break out of this hell you stuck us in, we're coming for you! For every life gone, for every hour locked in here, for every moment of fear and suffering, we'll take payment from your sorry hides! _ **We're coming for you!"**_

With that last dark promise, Alby thrust the torch into the dry grass and kindling set around the base of the wooden figure. Within seconds and with a deeply thrilling whoosh!the entire effigy was engulfed in angrily dancing flames. The gladers cheered, screaming insults and threats at the surrogate for their frustrated, unrequited anger. Alby turned back to face them, fervent triumph pouring from his smug grin.

As the volume started to subside, Adrian once again stepped up beside Alby, clapping the boy warmly on the shoulder. Alby moved off to the side and was quickly swallowed by the crowd as Adrian stepped into the limelight. He waited, silent, as two sloppers rolled a couple of large supply barrels up behind the man, setting them upright and moving to stand behind them expectantly. A curious murmur rippled through the watchers as to the purpose of the fresh raw cow hide that had been laid over the open tops of the barrels and stretched tight with rope lacing. A third slopper followed right behind the first two, awkwardly carrying a large metal pail with a number of redundant wires crossing the open top. He also held a large glass jar, half full of tiny pebbles. He dropped the pail in front of one of the barrels before going to stand between the two other boys, forming a line behind Adrian but in front of the brilliant flames. With the fire so close and at their backs the three boys became striking black silhouettes against the light, and a little shiver ran through the gathering at the eerie spectacle before them.

Now that the other were in place Adrian, far enough from the fire to be painted with a watery flickering light, started pacing along the outer line of boys, talking in an ominous sing-song voice that filled the suddenly quiet air.

"Let me tell you a story. A story the likes of which you've never heard before. A tale of of broken promises, of sorrow, of theft. A fable of growing up, of loss. A story," Adrian's voice dropped the sing-song ring, becoming deeper and almost sinister. " _ **of Revenge!**_ " He waved a hand to the shadowy figures behind him and, right on cue, they began tapping their hands on the freshly made drums, laying out a simple one to three beat, the striking rhythm momentarily startling the watchers. The third shadow lifted the jar and shook it with a quick double flick of the wrist, the tinkling _chkka-chhhh_ sounds blending with the beat to create an edgy primal melody, completely alien to the transfixed gladers.

Then Adrian opened his mouth and started to sing. His clear, smooth tenor wove through the spellbound crowd like a sweet, cloying smoke.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newt and Minho stood side by side devouring chicken and salad with gusto as the rest of the boys did the same. Running for more than half a day followed by tussling and general shenanigans in the river had given them monstrous appetites. About half way through his plate, when the leading edge of desperate hunger had dulled a little, Newt started looking around, peering through the thick knot of bodies.

Newt had been as quick to strip and join the water games as the other runners had, plunging in unabashedly and diving into the fray. Until the day he'd ended up in a tickle war with Adrian, Newt had never realized just how...fun goofing around in the water could be. He'd cheered right along with the rest of the boys as Minho had tackled the man into the stream, and the ensuing free-for-all water battle that had followed was utter bedlam. By the time things started winding down, Newt had completely lost sight of the man, and hadn't seen him since. Minho caught Newt craning his neck as they ate, and didn't fail to comment.

"If you're looking for _Gramps_ , he's over by the fire with Alby." Minho said through a mouth full of bread. "Best be careful with him, man. I've heard that guys can start to get really cranky as they get older."

"He's not _that_ old." Newt grumbled a little, instinctively defending his newest friend. "Maybe a couple of years older than us; I dunno for sure, I never asked."

"Well," Minho replied, fake concern dripping in his voice, "When you do ask, make sure you speak **LOUDLY** and **CLEARLY.** I've also heard that, after a _certain age_ , the hearing's the first thing to go."

"Oh lay off, ya bloody shank." Newt shot back, beginning to feel the nip of irritation at Minho's persistent need to rag on the man.

They continued to snipe at each other as they finished their meal and dropped their empty plates at the cleared end of the feast table. Bickering back and forth, they automatically followed along behind the other boys as they moved to the center of the area and milled around aimlessly, waiting for whatever came next.

Newt was edging his way towards seriously angry with his old friend when Alby started his speech and, to Newt's massive relief, ended their little pissing match. Giving the leader his full attention, he listened as Alby took everyone through their history, their struggles, their losses. When he bowed his head and thought of all those who weren't standing there with them that night, he suddenly felt small and selfish for his annoyance at and petty argument with one of his best friends. Minho was, after all, just being _Minho_. How many boys had they buried, boys who should have been standing with them now, eating and laughing and arguing with friends? He may still be _here_ , stuck in the glade, but at the very least he was _alive_. He felt like an ungrateful sod, letting something so small get to him. A hand fell on his shoulder, giving it a bolstering squeeze. Newt looked up and into the eyes of his best friend, eyes that appeared to reflect his own turmoil, his own little seed of guilt for surviving while others did not, and just a hint of apology. A hint was more than enough. Newt nodded in acknowledgement, then looked back at Alby as the dark boy began speaking once more.

He spoke out his approval with the rest, he shouted his agreement, his pride with the rest. And when Alby thrust the torch into the wooden effigy, lighting it up in a glorious wash of fire, he joined the rest again as he screamed his anger and defiance at the form that had come to represent the enemy they knew they would one day face. Exhilarated, adrenaline pumping through him, Newt screamed and shouted and jumped in place. When he caught a glimpse of Minho beside him, he grinned at the joy and fervor painted across the asian boy's face; surely it was a perfect match for his own. Heart pounding, body filled with excited energy, Newt had to force himself to calm down a bit, to stand still and silent as Adrian started speaking to the gathering. The eerie cadence of Adrian's story sent a little chill up his spine, and he unconsciously moved just a hair closer to Minho, saying nothing when their shoulders brushed a little as the other boy leaned in a little as well. The hard beat beat beat of the music startled him, putting his back up a little, making him edgy.

Then Adrian began to sing, and everything else faded into the background.

 _ **We are two mariners**_

 _ **Our ship's sole survivors**_

 _ **In this belly of a whale**_

 _ **It's ribs are ceiling beams**_

 _ **It's guts are carpeting**_

 _ **I guess we have some time to kill**_

The crowd listened breathlessly, Adrian's rich smooth voice bewitching them.

 _ **You may not remember me**_

 _ **I was a child of three**_

 _ **And you, a lad of eighteen**_

 _ **But, I remember you**_

 _ **And I will relate to you**_

 _ **How our histories interweave**_

 _ **At the time you were**_

 _ **A rake and a roustabout**_

 _ **Spending all your money**_

 _ **On the whores and hounds**_

 **Oooooh** _ **, oh**_

Adrian moved along the boys at the front, pointing at one or another as he sang the words. Newt struggled to see past the boys in front of him, and started to nudge his way forward, wanting a better view.

 _ **You had a charming air**_

 _ **All cheap and debonair**_

 _ **My widowed mother found so sweet**_

 _ **And so she took you in**_

 _ **Her sheets still warm with him**_

 _ **Now filled with filth and foul disease**_

 _ **As time wore on you proved**_

 _ **A debt-ridden drunken mess**_

 _ **Leaving my mother**_

 _ **A poor consumptive wretch**_

 **Oooooh,** _ **oh**_

 _ **And then you disappeared**_

 _ **Your gambling arrears**_

 _ **The only thing you left behind**_

 _ **And then the magistrate**_

 _ **Reclaimed our small estate**_

 _ **And my poor mother lost her mind**_

They were all reacting to the song now, swaying a little where they stood, hissing in anger at the callous nature of the man in the song. Newt squeezed closer and closer to the front, drawn by the music.

 _ **Then, one day in spring**_

 _ **My dear sweet mother died**_

 _ **But, before she did**_

 _ **I took her hand as she, dying, cried:**_

 **Oooooh,** _ **oh**_

Newts just managed to inch his way past the last person in his way, finally standing at the very front of the crowd, his vision unobstructed. Adrian turned and looked him right in the eyes, the drum beats softening and slowing as he abruptly changed pitch and sang in a high, sweet falsetto that brought rise of goosebumps and the burn of restrained tears to more than a few of those watching.

 _ **"Find him, find him**_

 _ **Tie him to a pole and break**_

 _ **His fingers to splinters**_

 _ **Drag him to a hole until he**_

 _ **Wakes up naked**_

 _ **Clawing at the ceiling**_

 _ **Of his grave"**_

Switching back to the lower tenor, his face a mask of grief and anger, the beat picked back up and Adrian threw his arms wide, continuing.

 _ **It took me fifteen years**_

 _ **To swallow all my tears**_

 _ **Among the urchins in the street**_

 _ **Until a priory**_

 _ **Took pity and hired me**_

 _ **To keep their vestry nice and neat**_

 _ **But, never once in the employ**_

 _ **Of these holy men**_

 _ **Did I ever, once turn my mind**_

 _ **From the thought of revenge**_

 **Oooooh** _ **, oh**_

The boys shouted out a little, agreement and encouragement.

 _ **One night I overheard**_

 _ **The prior exchanging words**_

 _ **With a penitent whaler from the sea**_

 _ **The captain of his ship**_

 _ **Who matched you toe to tip**_

 _ **Was known for wanton cruelty**_

 _ **The following day**_

 _ **I shipped to sea**_

 _ **With a privateer**_

 _ **And in the whistle**_

 _ **Of the wind**_

 _ **I could almost hear**_

 **Oooooh,** _ **oh**_

Back to the slow, mournful beat, and the falsetto. A couple of boys spoke the words to themselves softly, speaking along with the man.

 _ **"Find him, find him**_

 _ **Tie him to a pole and break**_

 _ **His fingers to splinters**_

 _ **Drag him to a hole until he**_

 _ **Wakes up naked**_

 _ **Clawing at the ceiling**_

 _ **Of his grave**_

 _ **There is one thing I must say to you**_

 _ **As you sail across the sea**_

 _ **Always, your mother will watch over you**_

 _ **As you avenge this wicked deed"**_

Ten full beats of silence. In the glimmering light, as Adrian caught his breath, he saw the tell tale glimmer of tears in the eyes of his audience. He sucked in a great breath, and made one last switch back to tenor.

 _ **And then, that fateful night**_

 _ **We had you in our sight**_

 _ **After twenty months, it seemed**_

 _ **Your starboard flank abeam**_

 _ **I was getting my muskets clean**_

 _ **When came this rumbling from beneath**_

 _ **The ocean shook**_

 _ **The sky went black**_

 _ **And the captain quailed**_

 _ **And before us grew**_

 _ **The angry jaws**_

 _ **Of a giant whale**_

Gasps and cries, jerks of shock. Newt's eyes were huge, showing denial and fear, every bit of him locked into the song. Adrian stepped up to him, leaning down a little and singing right to him.

 _ **Don't know how I survived**_

 _ **The crew all was chewed alive**_

 _ **I must have slipped between his teeth**_

 _ **But, oh, what providence**_

 _ **What divine intelligence**_

 _ **That you should survive**_

 _ **As well as me**_

The crowd roared and Adrian turned, loping back to the drummers and snatching up the long forgotten metal pail. He held it under his arm, and all but cried the last words, malicious satisfaction dripping from every word.

 _ **It gives my eye great joy**_

 _ **To see your eyes fill with fear**_

 _ **To lean in close**_

 _ **And I will whisper**_

 _ **The last words you'll hear**_

 **Oooooh,** _ **oh**_

The drums went silent and, using his thumb nail, Adrian rhythmically plucked the wires strung across the pail, the high clear notes weaving into a wordless recounting of the mother's anguished lament. Slowly at first, then the drums joined back in and the music moved faster and faster, as though the fictional woman was angrily demanding the death of the one who'd betrayed her. The boys, unequivocally caught up in the song, howled and stomped their feet as the beat whipped into a feverish dirge. Then, with a last couple of thunderous beats, the music suddenly stopped. The stunned boys looked at each other, a little muddled for a moment after the intensity of the strange song. Applause started slowly, like the first drops of rain on a solid roof, growing little by little until, all of a sudden, the claps, shouts and commotion was deafening. Newt was so flabbergasted by the spectacle he'd witnessed,and the feelings that had whipped through him during it that he stood, still as a stone, staring in silent wonder as the man and the players took an exaggerated bow.

Adrian turned to the others, saluted them with two fingers, then rolled his wrist in a little 'have at 'er, boys' gesture. Needing no further prompting, the three new musicians went back to their makeshift instruments and began pounding out a new, cheerfully fast beat, one that sparked the urge to move in the listeners. With a happy laugh, Adrian whirled around, tossing the pail aside and breaking into a quick stepping dance. Needing no invitation, the boys at the front raced to join him, giving in to an almost primal need to dance in their exhilaration.

Alby executed an impressive display of rolls and flips, causing exclamations and bursts of laughter from the rest as they all moved to the cathartic beat. Adrian spun and twirled, ending up facing Newt where the blonde boy still stood, a statue in a whirling world of joy and freedom. Catching his eye, the man held out a hand and smiled, wiggling his fingers, inviting the boy to join. Shaken out of his stupor, a wide grin exploding over his face, Newt raced to join the dance.

* * *

Author's Note ~ The song I've had Adrian sing in this one is **The Mariner's Revenge** by **The Decemberists ~** a personal favorite. And the song may be sung, but the party's no where near done for the boys yet; the night is young and so are they. See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	24. The Ring

Author's note~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Catching his eye, the man held out a hand and smiled, wiggling his fingers, inviting the boy to join. Shaken out of his stupor, a wide grin exploding over his face, Newt raced to join the dance._

* * *

.

Sparks from the burning sacrificial figure flew high into the sky, appearing as short flaring comets in the full dark of night. The gladers danced and danced, feet pounding, arms waving, war whoops and laughter filling the night air. Adrian excused himself from the churning mass long before the boys had danced themselves out, slipping out of the crowd and lingering by the feast table, lighting a cigarette and taking in the spectacle before him. Everyone was present and accounted for, everyone was full immersed in the almost hypnotic call of the drums. The fearless leader, usually so serious and collected, danced as frantically and carefree as the rest, a wide easy smile on his face. The responsibilities and stress of leadership in a high pressure situation weighed so heavily on his young shoulders that he had always been more reserved, more somber in demeanor when Adrian had spoken to him before. Now, for tonight, he could almost be any other teenager; free and carelessly happy, living in the moment.

The brusque, tough, almost irascible head cook for the glade was also in the thick of it, doing a hip swinging shimmy-shake that had Adrian raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. The smaller, more nimble kids were doing jumps and rolls, dropping to their knees and springing back to their feet in one slick movement, twirling through the crowd. The thicker, more muscular boys stomped their feet and flung their arms high in celebration. The scathingly sarcastic Minho was in a class all of his own, hips loose and fluid as his quick stepping feet all but flew across the impromptu dance floor. Weeks, months, years of fear and helplessness and repression were released as the boys continued to dance.

Catching a slight movement to one side, Adrian glanced over his shoulder and watched as Gally silently stepped up beside him, facing the dancing throng. After a moment of watching the man with a measuring gaze, Gally grunted and handed him one of the two jars of amber liquid he carried with him. Adrian nodded his thanks, taking a satisfying mouthful of the strong beverage and turned back to watch the show, the ember from his cigarette lighting his face up orange as he took a long drag. Strangely, it was Gally who broke the silence.

"You were right."

"Was I, now?" Adrian asked easily, not taking his eyes from the other gladers. The action was starting to slow down, bodies swaying more than dancing now.

"Yeah." Gally said begrudgingly, a little resignation in his voice at the admittance. "We...needed this. We didn't know it, but we really did need this. This chance to let off some steam."

Adrian turned back to him now, a satisfied but somewhat weary look in his eyes as he clinked glasses with the boy. "We all do, from time to time. Stress, fear, sweat, blood, tears? Facts of life. It ain't exactly been a fuckin' picnic in here for you guys. Pressure builds up, people start to _crack_ , do stupid things. _Blow it off_ or _blow up_. So I say screw it, _**blow it off**_. Which is exactly what I'm going to do in our new wrestling pit, once things settle down a bit."

"Thank you." Gally muttered, forcing the words out. As he'd been the most vocal against the necessity of a celebration during the planning, and the most derisive about the effect it would have on moral throughout the rest, Gally was feeling the growing pressure of guilt to make amends. Between his admission and his thanks he figured they were square and even again, and turned to beat feet in the other direction. Adrian watched him go, the strong, proud boy who none-the-less had made the effort to man up and eat crow.

"Hey Gally."

" _What?_ "

"Join us at the ring. We'll have a match, show the others how it's done. I could use a good, strong competitor like you."

Gally turned, just a little, and the sneering smirk that crossed his face told the man that they were back to equal footing again.

"You won't be saying that when I knock you flat on your ass, **shank.** "

"We'll see about that." Murmured Adrian, taking another drink of liquor and grinning into the darkness.

.

* * *

.

Newt danced until he was almost ready to drop. Chest heaving, heart pounding, he finally decided to take a break for a bit, get his breath back. As he stepped away from the dancing, he noticed that things were definitely slowing down a bit now, most were milling around now, or taking a break as he was. A decent size group had gathered around the drums, and the players were more than willing to show any interested party how to play rhythms on their new toys. Seeing Adrian standing alone by the feast table Newt made a beeline for him, idly wondering if there was any food left. He'd danced off his dinner, and would happily accept a snack, were one available. He reached the man just as he was crushing out his cigarette.

"I gotta admit, you know how to throw a bloody party." Newt said, by way of greeting.

"Glad you're enjoying it." Adrian answered casually, tipping his jar back and finishing the last of his beverage. Newt caught the smell of it and frowned a little in consideration; Gally was the maker of spirits here in the glade, and it was already fairly well known that he really didn't care for the man. Why had he opted to share his precious booze with a guy he all but despised?

"Get that from Gally, did you?"

Adrian shrugged, unconcerned.

"Peace offering." He replied lightly, glancing around and gauging the general mood of the now scattered boys. "Ready for the next bit of entertainment?"

"Wh...there's _more?!_ "

Adrian laughed, shaking his head at the boy.

"The night is young and so are we. Of course there's more. C'mon, kid, I'll show you."

Together, they walked over to a large oval area, newly made and blanketed in soft clean sand. Though there were about a dozen boys lingering around it now, no one was inside the ring yet. Adrian walked to the center without hesitation, turning to face the suddenly attentive boys and speaking in a loud, clear voice.

"So, you've had your feast, your speech, your song and dance. Now it's time to show us what you're made of. Our sloppers and track hos busted their asses for hours to put this little ring together, lets make good use of it. Any volunteers?"

As if appearing out of thin air, Gally stepped into the ring and stood, arms crossed, right in front of the man. Adrian nodded amiably.

"First off, we'll establish the rules. No punching, hitting below the belt, biting, whatever. No weapons. And no _whining._ " Adrian flashed a cocky grin, drawing chuckles from the growing crowd. "Use your strength, and your wits. First one to be pushed out of the ring, looses. Everyone got that?"

Nods and murmurs of agreement from the boys. Gally stayed silent, though his did jerk a shoulder in an affirmative motion. Adrian and Gally each took a step back, both moving into a slight crouch as they readied themselves. "On three, then. One...two... **three!** "

Newt stifled a gasp as Gally rushed the man, eyes narrow and locked on his prey. Adrian stayed where he was, braced for contact, letting the boy come. At the very instant when Gally would have grabbed his shoulders and shoved, Adrian pivoted, ducking under Gally's arm and slapping a hand on his back, hooking his forward leg with a well aimed foot. Gally did a rather inglorious face plant into the sand, mere inches from the edge of the ring. The watching boys shouted, surprise and excitement. Adrian circled around and back, and Gally rolled quickly to his feet, his face red with anger and embarrassment. He lunged for the man again. This time, Adrian met him in the middle, gripping his opponent's shoulders even as large hands found a grip on his own. Their audience was actually cheering now, calling out encouragement to one or the other as they grappled mightily, the muscles in their shoulders and back rippling from the effort.

Gally tried to hook Adrian's leg but the man was too quick, blocking the motion and slipping out of Gally's grasp like a fish, only to be tackled to the ground a heartbeat later.

After a moment of fast rough wrestling, the two competitors found themselves face to face on their knees in the middle of the ring, hands clasped, arms trembling lightly as each exerted immense force, trying to overpower the other. Their names were being chanted by the group, some rooting for their chief builder, others for their new greenie. Newt, caught up in the thrill and excitement of the moment, lead the group cheering Adrian on, his heart pounding in suspense as sweat poured down the faces of the struggling pair.

Then Adrian started to laugh.

Confused, Gally eased off the pressure and let go, perplexed as to the abrupt change in the man's attitude. Adrian continued to chuckle as he got to his feet, grabbing Gally's hand and hauling the boy up out of the sand. He slapped a companionable hand on Gally's shoulder, then turned and spoke to the roaring crowd.

"I believe we'll call that one a draw. Who's up next? Who's got the **guts** to step into the ring?"

Boys shouted their approval, shoving one another in a good-natured way as they eagerly stepped into the ring. With their infectious enthusiasm filling the air, Gally cracked a crooked smile, even going so far as to punch Adrian, almost lightly, on the shoulder. He headed off into the night and reappeared a short while later, apparently feeling generous, bearing a large pitcher of his home made liquor. Adrian gladly accepted another helping as he watched Zart, keeper of the track hos, square off against an eager faced Ben. Laughing and shouting, cheering the victors and razzing the defeated, the feeling of camaraderie and friendly competition grew stronger and stronger as the boys tested themselves, and each other. Standing in a small knot with Newt, Minho, Jeff and Gally, and joined by Alby, talk turned to the future.

"When we get out of here," Minho asserted, gesturing with a half empty jar of booze and refusing to believe any other alternative, "And kick the klunk out of those slintheads who stuck us here, what's the first thing you're going to do? Find out where you came from? Sleep in a real bed? Whoop it up in a real city, surrounded by normal people?"

" _God_ , but I could use a vacation." Jeff stated firmly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and sipping at the measly half jar of alcohol he'd allowed himself for the evening. "No worries, no stress, no blood. Just... _peace_. People optional, but mostly just sun and water and _lots_ of good food."

"Pizza." Gally said abruptly, causing a good laugh from those standing with him. "I don't remember klunk about where I came from, don't care about where I'm from, who I was. But I have this haze memory of pizza. Hot and bubbling and _cheesy_." His eyes went just a bit dreamy, and the other boys thought back to their own dim recollections of the long lost food. "I'm gonna eat a pile of pizza. _A mountain_. So much I can't move afterwards. Then I'm going to sleep for a full week."

Alby, having had a drink or two himself to loosen him up a bit, snorted.

" **Really** man? _Gorge and nap?_ That's the **best** you can do?"

"Well, what about you, _Mr-High-And-Mighty_ , hmmm? What're **you** gonna do?"

"I want to know where I came from." Alby's voice went quiet, his eyes deep. "We didn't come from nothing, from nowhere. When I'm done kicking ass, I'm going to find out where I came from, who I came from...shuck, I might even have _family_ out there."

Feeling the potential for depression to overtake his friend, Newt piped in cheerfully to break the mood.

"Well, I don't know about _**you**_ lot, but I'd be more than happy to bang around a nice big city for a while. Y'know, surround myself with a bunch of blokes that can actually hold a civilized conversation for more than five bleedin' minutes-" A chorus of scoffing protests arose over that comment. "and don't smell like rancid feet. Hell, maybe they even know how to use a bloody fork and spoon. You never know. But I'd be more than happy to just lose myself among them and find out."

" _Among_ them, or _ **in**_ them?" Minho quipped, resulting in another round of laughter and Newt's mild blush at the tease. "After all, cities are **full** of _good lookin' strangers_ -"

" **God,** I hear that." Adrian sighed wistfully, lighting a new cigarette with the stub of the last and swigging from his third drink of the evening. All eyes turned to him; he rolled his theatrically.

"You can keep your beach, your pizza, your search for origins. If I get out with the rest of you, first thing I'm going for is a companionable stranger. And not that you boys aren't _good company_ , but I don't want to see any of your ugly mugs for **at least** a week on the outside. I intend to be... _otherwise engaged_."

Bawdy laughter now as the mildly inebriated boys hassled the man over his choices. Adrian waved them off, insistent.

"It's like an old song I've heard."

Without warning, he belted out that sweet, rich voice into the night.

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 _ **I want a girl with lips like morphine**_

 _ **Knock me out every time they touch me**_

 _ **I wanna feel a kiss just**_

 _ **Crush me**_

 _ **And break meeeeeeee down**_

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He lifted his glass high, acknowledging the amusement of his friends and the whistles and cheers from the surrounding boys, grinning cheekily.

"May we all find what we desire on the outside, whenever we make it there. Be it sun and surf, pizza, history or civilization. Or a smokin' number with big blue eyes, a fantastic ass, and _great_ flexibility."

Minho moaned as the others chuckled in amusement.

"Shuck, Adrian, you're _killin'_ me! I'd love to find some curvy little number, dark hair, dark eyes, stupendous assets, legs up to her ears. A lot of free time."

The others hooted and groaned in agreement, their smiles slightly soggy around the edges. The started jabbing at each other with their elbows, naming attributes that got more and more suggestive the longer the conversation carried on. They were animatedly debating when they were interrupted by a particularly loud outburst from the crowd. Turning back toward the ring, they saw a single figure standing in the center, arms flung wide as he turned in slow circles and basked in the attention of the audience.

The boy made a rather intimidating figure, six foot, an easy two hundred fifty pounds of muscle and scars and attitude. His face had a cruel cast to it, and his grin was openly malicious and mocking in the flickering light.

" _Who else_ wants to try me? _Who_ thinks they can take me down!"

"Who is that fine strapping gentleman?" Adrian asked, staring hard as a more moderately sized boy with a bleeding nose was helped to his unsteady feet by a couple of concerned looking gladers.

"His name is Wes." Gally sneered. "Was a builder for a while, but couldn't follow the _simplest shucking_ instructions. Now he works as a slicer, under Winston. Has a fondness for causing pain. Prides himself in the slaughter."

"Oh? Friend of yours, is he?"

Gally curled his lip.

"Creepy sadistic **shuck** that he is. Not on your life. Even _**I** _have standards."

"No one can best me! **I am king of the ring!"** Wes shouted, boastfully.

Adrian felt a pleasant little tingle of dark pleasure at the idea of dethroning the arrogant asshole currently showboating around, entirely sure of his supremacy. He pitched his voice above the hubbub.

"I'll take that challenge."

A sudden shocked silence fell, and the watching boys moved to clear a path to the ring for the man. Newt caught his arm when he stepped forward.

" _Don't._ " Newt said quietly, urgently. "He'll smear you like a bug."

Adrian only cocked a crooked grin, crushing out the last of his cigarette on the ground and holding out his empty jar.

"Hold my drink, and watch. Shouldn't be long."

He walked into the ring and stood opposite the ugly brute, the wall of watching boys surrounding them closing in an instant. Newt pushed his way to the front, a little sick to his stomach at the thought of what could happen, right in front of his eyes. Adrian rolled to the balls of his feet, leaning forward slightly.

"Count us in, guys. One...two... **three!** "

Before the crowd finished shouting the word three, the great bear of a boy rushed at Adrian, grabbing his shoulders hard enough to bruise and shoving him towards the edge of the ring. Adrian kept his knees loose, absorbing the force and letting his feet skid through the soft sand, by all appearances not even putting up a fight. Boys scattered out of the way as the pair moved towards them, clearing a gap for the soon to be forcibly ejected man. Less than a foot away from the edge Adrian flew into motion, bringing his arms up from underneath and knocking Wes's hands off of his shoulders, ducking in a blur and planting his shoulder into the brute's gut. With a harsh grunt and a heroic effort, Adrian used the boy's own forward momentum to flip his legs up and over his shoulder, dropping him flat on his back on the hard ground outside the ring. The air brutally knocked out of him, all Wes could do was let out a serious of humiliating squeaks as he struggled for breath. Adrian leaned over and spoke to the gasping, defeated boy, his words perfectly clear in the silence.

"You appear to have fallen, _**your majesty**_."

Noise erupted as everyone rushed in to slap Adrian's back, to cheer his cleverness, to praise his strength. Newt elbowed his way up beside the man, a little pale, but smiling.

"I _swear,_ I though he was going to bloody **flatten** you!"

"The bigger they are," Adrian remarked, ruthlessly casual about the whole thing. "The **harder** they fall."

He threw his head back and laughed with the rest of them, slinging an arm around Newt's shoulders in a friendly gesture.

"Come on. Let's go see if there's anything left from the feast. I'm _starved_ all over again."

As Adrian and his group departed, two other boys moved forward to help pull the still gasping Wes to his feet. In the dark, no one saw the burning, hateful glare aimed at their departing backs.

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While there were still many hours left before dawn, Adrian all but stumbled into his little house, half asleep on his feet as he barred the door. He'd left the rest of the others taking turns on the drums, still going strong. He barely managed to pull off his shirt before he face planted onto his bed, too tired to even groan. He hooked up his music player, already in the twilight world of dozing. It started playing back the song he'd woken to that morning.

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 _ **They said all**_

 _ **Teenagers scare**_

 _ **The living shit out of me**_

 _ **They could care less**_

 _ **As long as someone'll bleed**_

 _ **So darken your clothes**_

 _ **Or strike a violent pose**_

 _ **Maybe they'll leave you alone**_

 _ **But not me**_

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He grinned sleepily into his pillow before, happily, sinking into the darkness.

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Newt waved a half-assed goodnight to his friends as he wandered off into the woods to relieve himself before heading to bed. As he emptied his bladder his slightly tipsy mind wondered if Adrian was still awake, thinking of the invitingly soft couch he'd slept on the night before. Finishing up, he started to meander in the direction of Adrian's cozy home, not really considering the lateness of the hour or paying attention to his surroundings, thinking of the man's jovial mood all evening. Maybe Adrian would even let him curl up in the bed tonight; as nice as the couch was, Newt couldn't remember ever sleeping better than when he had slept beside Adrian. While he was also normally a creature that valued his own personal space, the unprecedented bone deep feeling of safety and security Newt had felt when he slept beside Adrian had become something the boy craved. Feeling uncharacteristically warm and fuzzy, Newt plodded along, thinking happy thoughts.

Without warning, hard hands shot out of the darkness and grabbed Newt roughly by the wrists, the back of the neck, his hips. A wide, calloused palm slapped over his mouth before he could suck in the breath to scream. He felt a strong, careless arm wrap around his waist so tightly it hurt, pulling him back against a wide chest as his wrists were bound with coarse twine and muffled laughter whispered around him. An ugly, familiar voice whispered wetly in his ear, causing him to shiver in disgust.

"Where ya goin, _eh?_ The party's _just gettin' started._ "

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Author's note~ The songs in this chapter, in order are **Lips Like Morphine by Kill Hannah** and **Teenagers by My Chemical Romance**

The rating will be going up next chapter, just as an fyi. See you there!

~Ruby


	25. Hold On

Author's note~

 **~The rating for this story has been upped.**

 **~Serious trigger warnings for this chapter.~ **  
_xxxx Molestation and Non-con, in detail xxxx_

Out of consideration for those who can't, won't, or don't want to read the ugly bits and pieces, I've inserted a very obvious divider at the **beginning** and **end** of the worst of it, so please feel free to skip ahead once you hit the cutoff if the content is likely to upset you.

Thank you.

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 _An ugly, familiar voice whispered wetly in his ear, causing him to shiver in disgust._

 _"Where ya goin, eh? The party's just gettin' started."_

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Newt struggled for breath against the hand over his mouth, gripping hard enough to bruise. His guts were churning with an ugly mix of fear, anger and disgust at what he knew would happen next. He felt the arm around his waist lift him clear off the ground, felt the movement of his captor's feet at he squirmed and kicked, trying to break loose from the iron grasp of the boy behind him. He heard more laughter from around him as the boys who'd helped hunt him down moved with them; a sinister pack of hunters, anticipating a good bloody meal. Still a little tipsy from the celebrations and getting dizzier by the second from lack of air, when his abductor finally set him on his own feet Newt would undoubtedly have collapsed into a heap on the ground if not for the casually callous arm around his waist. The hand over his mouth was removed, and he gasped for breath, eagerly filling his starving lungs. The gang of boys waited silently, Newt's ragged gasps the only sound in the eerily quiet night.

Just as his breathing was beginning to level out, Newt was spun roughly around, and shoved back into the trunk of a large tree. Tough, strong hands lifted him just a little, efficiently looping an extra length of twine from his bound wrists around a broken off stub of a branch. When they released him he had enough slack to twist and turn his arms a little, to bend his elbows and bring his hands half way to his head, but nowhere near enough to shimmy the rope off the branch on his own. He was very effectively restrained, completely unable to free himself. Newt bit the tip of his tongue to stop from gasping at the pain as the rough, uncaring bark scraped and cut into the skin on his back through his thin shirt. He knew what came next. If he could hold his silence, or at least stay fairly quiet, they wouldn't feel the need to gag him. Anger and hatred glistened in his eyes as he watched the leader of the boys come towards him, a sickening smile on his face. Despite his compromising position, he wasn't completely helpless.

Arching his back away from the tree, Newt managed to twist himself just enough to take a good kick at the boy on the left of him, the closest of the five goons currently watching him with amusement. The victim, a track ho with an unfortunate and endless crop of pimples, grunted in surprise and pain as Newt's hard shoe met his vulnerable knee, causing him to stagger away and almost crumple under the force of the attack. Moving like lightning, Newt lashed out behind him with a desperate back kick and landed a more glancing blow on the retreating shin of the boy on the other side before he too moved out of range. Newt moved to turn and try for any available body in front of him when a sudden vicious back hand rocked his head back, tearing his lip and causing his sight to explode with a blinding white flash.

Thick abrasive fingers grabbed his jaw, forcing his head to properly face his tormentor's self-satisfied sneer.

" _Still_ feel like laughing at me, Newtie?"

Newt swallowed the blood in his mouth, curling his own lip and trying for a tone of coldly dismissive disdain. His defiance may have been a little wobbly around the edges, his voice may have trembled a little, but it was all he had left.

"Oh _yeah_ Wes, a _right bloody riot_ , you are. Just get on with it, will you? I don't have _all bloody night._ "

"We do have all night, but if you insist," Wes growled in a poor approximation of seductive purr. "we'll just move right along. As you're so...eager."

A couple of sharp snaps sounded, followed by the _ksssht_ of steel on flint, and a small fire was kindled by the other goons, casting a smallish circle of dancing orange light around their little group. Wes grabbed the hem of Newt's shirt, roughly stuffing it up through the neck and twisting it into a tight little knot in the middle of his chest, the flickering light and shadow giving a cheap illusion of assets Newt didn't possess. He unhooked the button on Newt's pants, letting the buff colored cotton ride low over the boy's slender hips. Stepping back, glancing at his avidly waiting friends, he gestured to their bound and waiting captive as Frypan had to the incredible feast earlier that evening.

"I want last go. Who's first up?"

In a move that seemed absurd, given the purpose of the gang, the four boys played a lightning round of rock-paper-scissors to decide who got first crack at their victim. In less than a minute a winner was decided, and he slithered up to Newt on a knee still tender from the earlier attack. He smiled greasily and ran an overly warm hand across the taut muscles of Newt's bare midriff. Newt couldn't quite suppress the shudder of disgust that coursed through him and he turned his head to the side, staring resolutely into the darkness of the forest and praying that it would be over quickly. He knew that at this point fighting would only prolong the inevitable, and result in a beating on top of it. The other boys laughed and called out in encouragement.

"Go on Doug! **Have at 'im!** I'm _dying_ over here!"

"Yeah, **get on** with it!"

" _Don't forget_ , I'm next!"

Wes just stood and smiled, cold, cruel anticipation painted over his hard features.

Doug was chest to chest with Newt now, breathing quickly in excitement. Newt felt him fumbling with his own fly, felt the hot rank breath moistening the delicate skin at the base of his neck, and closed his eyes, refusing to participate in any way in the distasteful actions being forced upon him.

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He felt the dry, invasive hand running possessively over his side, the sick, wet tongue testing his flesh. And then, the hot, hard length of Doug's member pressing firmly against his stomach, rubbing back and forth across the bare skin as the randy boy began to firmly thrust against his unwilling body. Every thrust ground Newt's abused back against the tree trunk and he instinctively tried to arch away from the cutting surface, clamping down on a whimper and biting his torn lip hard enough for a tiny trickle of blood to drip down his chin. Grunting like an animal in Newt's ear, Doug grabbed Newt's waist in a bruising grip and forced their bodies even closer as his thrusts became more urgent and erratic. Finally, after what felt like forever, he gave a last few frantic thrusts and great groan of satisfaction as he emptied himself on Newt's stomach. Doug collapsed against the boy for a moment to catch his breath, perspiration beaded on his face. Newt retained his stoic silence, though his forehead was knotted in concentration and his face was pale from the pain.

The others cheered, actually cheered when Doug finished, shoving each other jokingly as each waited for their own turn. As Doug stumbled off to the side to put himself back together, the next stepped up in his place. Eager, already hard after watching Doug take get off, he wasted no time in getting down to business. He spun Newt around to face the tree and freed himself from his uncomfortably tight pants.

Wrapping a long, gangly arm around Newt's stomach and pulling his body to him, he started rutting against the subtle curve of Newt's pale back where flesh met fabric. Newt curled his fingers into the bark of the tree, hanging his head and trying to keep his breath even despite the arm painfully clutching his abdomen. The forceful movements pushed him against the tree; every muscle in his arms stood out as he used all of his strength to keep his face away from the sharp, jagged bark. Focused on enduring, Newt barely noted his abuser's energetic climax; the groans of pleasure and sudden slackening of the confining arm, the hoots and praise from the others only dimly registering in his mind. He took a deep, steadying breath to settle himself before the next onslaught, but the reprieve was incredibly short. In mere heartbeats someone grabbed his body, forcefully turning him around. Hands hooked under his thighs and lifted him with a strength born from impatient need, holding his legs up and spread as a new body pinned him against the tree. Newt muffled the thin, painful moan that threatened to escape his throat as his torn back was, once again, ground against the unforgiving surface behind him by the next round of eager thrusting.

And so it went. The third boy took his turn with Newt, then the fourth had his. Newt clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth until he feared they might crack from the pressure. After an eternity of heavy breathing, wild thrusting and cries of pleasure, four of the boys were finally satisfied. Pale as the moon, chest rising and falling rapidly, Newt leaned forward a little and slumped against the ropes with his eyes closed. _Just one more_ , he thought, clinging to the words that had become his mantra. Hold on, j _ust one more. Hold on, just one more. Hold on. Just one more. Then it'll be over._

Wes hadn't said a single word through the whole sordid affair, standing still as a stone and watching the action with a grimace of amusement on his face. Looking at the lightly trembling form of Newt, restrained and waiting, he glanced at his wrung out friends and broke his silence.

"Head on back for the night, guys. I'll have my turn, finish up here."

"You sure, boss?" Doug asked, thoroughly exhausted and slurring his words a little. "We could stick around and-"

"It's fine." Interrupted Wes coldly. "There's no fight left in him. Go to bed. I'll cut him loose when I'm done."

The others voiced a mumbled chorus of acceptance, stumbling off into the night and away from the low glow of the dying fire. Wes waited until the sounds of their passage had completely faded away before he approached Newt. He grabbed Newt by the jaw, forcing his head up so they were eye to eye. When Newt refused to open his eyes, refused to look at him, Wes snarled a little and crushed his mouth to Newt's in a bruising, ugly parody of a kiss. Wes jerked back as Newt's teeth sank into his lip, easily tearing through the delicate skin. He reared back and plowed a hard fist into Newt's gut, leering with a bloody grin as Newt coughed and retched. He turned Newt around to face the tree, grabbing his shaggy blonde hair and wrenching his head back, forcing a small wad of cloth into the boy's mouth when he couldn't control the gasp of pain. He quickly tied on another strip of fabric over top, fashioning a very effective gag. He freed his member from his pants, then yanked on Newt's hair once again, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"You've **earned** this. You got me all churned up, so you've got **_no one_** to **_blame_** but **_yourself_**. **No one** laughs at me and just walks away."

Wes's free hand slid down Newt's bruised stomach until his thumb hooked under the waistband of his pants and undershorts. One rough jerk pulled the garments down over his hips, the fabric catching on Newt's thighs and leaving his backside completely bare.

Fresh panic exploded inside Newt as he felt the cool night air on his exposed rump. He bucked and squirmed, kicking his legs and flailing his elbows, filled with terrified energy as he fought to get away with the strength of true fear. He mentally prayed to every and any deity that might or might not exist, pleading, desperately ready to grab a hold of even the most slender chance of mercy. _Please God, please God, please God._ Wes cackled an ugly laugh in his ear as he swirled a hand through the slick mess the other boys had left on Newt's skin, using it to coat his own insistent organ. He kneed Newt's legs apart and pressed the head of his penis against Newt's tightly clenched hole, releasing his hair and grabbing his hip in a grip like steel.

"You're gonna _beg_. You're gonna **scream**. And I'm going to enjoy _**every**_... ** _single_**.. _. **minute**_...of it."

In one brutal eager thrust, Wes buried himself inside Newt.

The horrific shocking pain ripped a long scream from Newt, the sound high and thin against the thick cloth gag. His back arched violently, bile rose in his throat. The pain was everything; all consuming and enormous, it felt like he was being ripped right in half. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his filthy, bruised face.

Wes gripped Newt's hips with both hands, thrusting steadily into his trembling body as he writhed and screamed, pulling and twisting his wrists against the rope bindings until blood ran down his arms. And still Wes moved inside him, each rough, angry thrust registering as it's own agonizing strike against his battered body. Wes's movements gradually sped up, the blinding pain reaching new peaks as the brute rushed towards the end. A final few brutal thrusts took Wes to a loud moaning climax, and drew another shriek of indescribable pain from Newt as the hot essence hit his torn insides. Wes stayed where he was for a few minutes, still fully sheathed as Newt hung limply from his restraints, visibly shivering and quietly crying. After he'd regained his breath, Wes slid a long, nasty looking knife from the back of his belt and cut Newt free from the tree, releasing him from the branch but leaving his hands tied together. Wes slid out of his body but held him in a firm grip to keep him from simply falling to the ground in a heap. Lifting him easily, Wes moved toward a more open patch of ground, unceremoniously dropped the incoherently sobbing boy on his face in the grass and flopping down beside him to relax for a moment.

After a brief break, Wes shuffled around behind Newt. Somewhere in the fog of Newt's fractured thoughts, he found the slightest ray of hope that the monster was actually going to walk away, going to leave. Then he felt his body being lifted to his hands and knees, his hips cruelly yanked upward a half second before he, too weak to fight, was once again pierced by Wes's member. He screamed against the gag until his voice gave out as Wes, on his knees behind him, once again brutally pounded into him, the pain coming in wave after excruciating wave. Begging through the cloth, out of his mind from the agony, Newt desperately wished to simply black out as every minute stretched into an eternity. Knowing he was almost there, Wes pistoned his hips into Newt frantically, Newt's feeble cries and the sick sound of flesh slapping against flesh driving him closer and closer. As he felt the tell tale clenching in his guts, Wes drove himself in as hard and fast as he could, spooning Newt's sweat slick back and sinking his teeth viciously into the skin at the base of his neck as he desperately jerked his hips. He came explosively, crying out and drawing one last hoarse, agonized scream from the body beneath him.

Breathing heavily, his clothes clinging to him from a healthy sweat, Wes gave Newt a friendly slap on the rump before disengaging and using a handful of Newt's bloody shirt to clean himself off. He got to his feet and tucked himself away again, letting Newt slump into a boneless heap on the ground. He cut through the remaining rough restraints with a flick of his knife, turning on his heel and walking away from the broken, prone figure without a single word.

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Pants around his knees, shirt rucked up to his shoulders, Newt was lost in a world of pain and misery. Everything hurt, he could barely breathe through the pain. Eyes screwed shut, tears still escaping despite the tightly closed lids, he wished for death. To fall asleep and just never wake up again.

He lay exactly as he'd fallen for hours, his thoughts so deep in the darkness and horror of what had happened that he didn't register his vulnerable position until he was shivering so hard he could almost hear his bones rattle. Finally opening his eyes, he saw that it was very early morning, the sky not yet yielding its indigo hue to the navy of breaking dawn. He worked the vile gag from his mouth before slowly, gingerly, forcing his trembling limbs to move, easing himself up to his hands and knees. Feeling the slickness that coated his cheeks and the warmth dribbling down his thighs he began retching uncontrollably, harshly emptying himself on the grass. Only sheer determination stopped him from ending up face first in the puddle of sick. An inch at a time, gasping and panting, he made his way over to the lumpy, shadowy shape of a moss covered log.

Bracing himself over the fallen tree, he started pulling up handfuls of the soft green plant, using it to wipe away the blood and fluids that still dripped down his legs, his hands shaking violently. Once he'd cleaned away as much as he could, he eased his filthy pants back up over his hips, trying not to whimper as the fabric slid over his abraded flesh. Taking deep, steadying breaths, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little as black spots danced before his eyes. When his head stopped spinning, he began the long, painful trip back to the center of the glade – and his own bed.

Every step was an excruciating ordeal, sending a shock wave of pain right through his core. Night was truly giving way to morning as he got closer and closer to his goal and he moved as quickly and quietly as he could, biting the hand he'd shoved into his mouth to stop from crying out. When he managed to reach his hammock without waking any of the others he fell to his knees in front of it, still conscious from spite and fear alone. He dragged off his ruined shirt and dampened the cleanest bits of it with his water bottle, using the fabric to wipe away the worst of the sweat and blood and dirt on his face. He winced his way through pulling on his only spare shirt, stuffing the filthy one under a fold of his hammock. Getting into his hammock was another long, painful test of his determination; he managed with minimal whimpers and extensive whispered curses. Pitifully grateful for it, he pulled his blanket around him and up over his head.

Desolate, defeated, filled with a sickening mix of anger and pain and shame, he curled up as tightly as he could and cried silent tears. Finally, mercifully, he blacked out into oblivion.

* * *

Author's note~

This chapter was difficult for me to write. I didn't particularly enjoy it and the hard ugly nature of it was more than a little demanding. I had to push to get it finished. I'm no stranger to writing sex scenes; I've done my fair share, but usually far more benign than this. This nasty little business is necessary to the plot though, so here it is.

And now, breathing a sigh of relief, lets move on.

See you next chapter.

~Ruby


	26. I Know

Author's note~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Getting into his hammock was another long, painful test of his determination, and he managed it with minimal whimpers and whispered curses, pulling his blanket up around him, and over his head._

 _Desolate, defeated, he curled up as tightly as he could and cried silent tears until finally, mercifully, he blacked out into oblivion._

* * *

Everyone was suffering from a bit of post-party fogginess in the morning. Feasting, dancing, wrestling all added up to a whole bunch of lazy, groggy gladers. Even the keepers didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to gather their troupes and get to work on the daily agenda; they were too engrossed in burying their heads under their blankets and trying to catch a few more hours of sleep. It was fully mid-morning before the usually early rising boys finally started to come alive, stretching and grumbling and trying to will their brains back to working order. One by one, they began to rouse the others with the unmerciful mindset that if **THEY** had to get up and be productive, so should everyone else. A mildly hung over Minho stopped by Newt's hammock after waking the other runners, gripping the coarse canvas and giving a good, no-nonsense shake. He spoke in an intentionally irritating sing-song voice to the tightly wrapped blanket cocoon that he knew must contain his friend.

 _"Up and at 'em, Newt!_ You're sleeping the day away."

Newt's voice, hoarse and scratchy, emanated from the pile of bedding.

"Not today, Min. Mm'not feeling so great."

Minho laughed a little, shaking his head at the miserable voice.

"Too much of Gally's best last night? _Can't hold your hooch?_ Come on, Newt. We're spending the day in the map room, not actually running. You'll feel better once you're up and moving."

"I can't. I right and truly feel like klunk. Sorry, I'm just **not** up for it today."

Minho's laughter died off, a look of concern shadowed his eyes as he tuned in to the truly desolate tone. Studying the small lumpy form closely, he realized that he could see Newt shivering despite the heavy covering that swaddled him.

"Hey, hey, what's going on with you? Should I go get Jeff, have him take a look-"

" **No!**...No, I'll be fine. I don't need a med-jack. I just need to sleep this off. Go on with the others. I'll be fine."

"Ah, well, if you say so." Minho said doubtfully, eyeing his friend balefully. In all the time he'd known Newt, the one thing he'd learned in a hurry was that the blonde dealt with pain in one of two ways; by being completely stoic and self deprecating, even if he was half-way dead, or by turning into a whining, moaning, constantly bitching pain in the ass. Despite his worry for Newt's health, Minho couldn't help but desperately wish that whatever ailed him this time would pass quickly...and quietly.

With a shrug, and one more wary glance, Minho turned away and went to join the rest of his crew.

Newt waited, holding his breath, until he heard the rhythmic footsteps fade away. He gasped in a lung full of air, hearing it rattle in his chest as he fought to not hyperventilate, as his trembling eased and a cold sweat popped up on his skin. _Minho couldn't see him like this._ No one could, but especially not his oldest friend. Not until he cleaned himself up, pulled himself together. Unwilling to face the world, still exhausted, and hurting everywhere, Newt managed another hour or two of fitful sleep before he just couldn't force himself to slip away again. Listening carefully, Newt peeled his blanket down enough to peek one eye out.

The coast was clear.

Sitting up as quickly as he dared, Newt brutally forced a cry of pain down so only a thready little whimper escaped, too quiet to be heard by anyone who might be around. His knees almost buckled when he shifted to his feet, but stubborn determination had him locking them before he could pitch into the dirt. He swirled the blanket around him like a shroud, pulling it up as a cowl to shadow his face from view and limping away towards the stream hurriedly, skirting any areas where the other gladers might be working or lingering. Despite his pain, he heaved a great sigh of relief when he managed to make it to the water without coming face-to-face with anyone else.

Leaving the blanket hung over a low branch, Newt slowly and painfully peeled off his clothes, pulling the cloth out of open wounds with a grimace as the sharp burn added another layer to his discomfort. Still holding the bundle of dirty, blood streaked garments, he winced his way into the stream and submerged himself up to the neck in the gentle cool water. Despite the stinging in his many wounds, Newt groaned in relief as the cool liquid caressing his skin began to sooth his abused body. As the water stilled beneath his chin the sun slanting down turned the surface into a lightly wavering mirror; he squinted at his reflection with disgust. In addition to the dirt on his face, dried blood from his torn and swollen lip covered his chin, and faint yellowish bruises marked the corners of his mouth, keeping company with a darker one high on his cheek. The rest of his face was, thankfully, undamaged, and Newt was relieved. In another day, the swelling would be down to mostly normal, and the bruises shouldn't be too noticeable either. Really, it could've been so much worse. He sank a little lower and drank like a horse, the water blissful on his raw throat.

While he soaked in the shallows he beat and ground his clothes against the sandy bank, pummeling the dirt, plant matter and dried blood from the fibers. Content in the numbing cool, he refused to leave the water until his teeth began to chatter. He wrung out his clean clothes and slung them on branches in the sun, moving much easier now, and reclined against a tree trunk to wait for them to dry. When the warm, clear day started to erase the therapeutic effect of the stream Newt splashed back into the water, this time conscientiously working to remove any remaining grime from his own body. With handfuls of sand (and no small amount of patience) Newt gingerly scoured the ick away, avoiding the most painful spots as best he could. He even scrubbed his hair, clearing out the sweat and bark dust. When he got out of the water for the last time, despite his horribly burning backside, Newt felt almost half-way human.

It was nearing dinner time once the sun had warmed him again, so he pulled on his now dry clothes and wrapped himself in his freshly-aired blanket, making his way back to his hammock. Walking was still agony, he still limped with every step, but he felt so much better now that he'd cleaned up and tended to his battered body a little. Still careful to dodge the others, he made it back to his bed without incident. Cocooned again, secure in his little canvas cradle, he was fully prepared to sequester himself until tomorrow.

* * *

Having gotten a good, restful sleep, Adrian spent most of the morning working on his little home. He threw together a rough latch and simple lock for his front door, made and hung curtains at his windows, lashed together the frames for a couple of wooden chairs and built thin cushions for the seats. He tinkered until around noon, figuring the rest of the glade would probably be ready to come back to life. Securing his door, he made his way over to the animal pens, grabbing a walk-and-go bite to eat from the cook hut on the way. He contentedly worked with the slicers on animal management and perpetuation for the rest of the afternoon, walking to dinner with them and wrapping up their conversation by promising their keeper, Winston, to assist in the building and upkeep of proper coops for the chickens and geese.

It had taken some hard arguing to persuade the boy that putting in the work required to keep a dozen of each alive and happy as layers would be more beneficial than wringing their necks and throwing them in the stew pot as soon as they were grown. It may take a week or two for them to come to their potential, but he fully intended to show the boy the upside of daily access to a couple dozen fresh eggs. Mentally drooling just a little at the thought of hot and hearty breakfasts, he toyed with ideas for how best to make a rudimentary meat grinder, contemplating pros and cons, possible problems and potential results. _Some fat little sausages to go alongside those eggs would really hit the spot_ , he thought a bit dreamily, fantasizing a little while waiting in line to get his supper. _They also have a good supply of salt, and no shortage of wood. I should teach them how to brine and smoke meat, too; it'll make it last longer and give it good flavor. Also, ham. Also also, bacon. Baaaaaacon. Bacon._

A sharp poke in the back woke him up, and he stepped up to hold his plate out for Frypan. Catching a familiar whiff of sweet and spicy, he grinned at the sturdy, serious boy as he dumped a thick sloppy sandwich and a blob of green salad on his dish. Wiggling his eyebrows knowingly at the cook, Frypan cracked a faint grin in return.

"Your _fancy_ chicken was such a damn hit last night, I figured I'd re-purpose the leftovers. Made up the sauce you showed me, put us together some down and dirty bbq buns with greens. Looks like it's going down easy enough." The boy drawled, waving a lazy arm at the enthusiastically munching crowd already seated. Adrian couldn't help but laugh a little.

"You're _the man,_ Frypan."

He took his food and wandered, finally spotting the familiar form of Minho in the crowd. Dropping into a seat beside him, he nodded greetings and applied himself to his meal, savoring the hot, messy treat and forking up the wilting but edible salad. He glanced around between bites, noting the general good mood and cheerful atmosphere that permeated the assembled gladers. One cheerful face, though, he couldn't find in the crowd. When Minho got up to leave, Adrian help out a hand to hold him back for a minute.

"Newt already been and gone?"

Mild concern and a hint of irritation passed over the keeper's face.

"Nah, not that I've seen. He's probably still in bed, the lazy shank. Wouldn't get up this morning, said he wasn't feeling great."

" _Hmmmm._ " Adrian mused, intrigued by the conflicting emotions he'd seen flit across the boy's face. "Maybe I should go check on him, make sure everything's a-ok."

"I wouldn't." Minho cautioned, "He can get **real** whiny when he's under the weather, and kinda pissy. Trust me, it's best to leave him to wallow until he feels better."

"All the same," Adrian replied easily, "Better safe than sorry."

"You **_asked_** for it." Minho muttered, turning sharply and walking away from the man, clearly done with the conversation.  
Unperturbed, Adrian finished his meal and wandered over to the rough shelter that housed row after row of hammocks. He'd looked in a time or two before, but had never needed to try and tie a specific bed to any particular person before. In this case, it was patently obvious which one belonged to his quarry; Newt's hammock was the only one currently occupied. He slunk silently up beside it, not wanting to bother the boy if he was sleeping comfortably. He touched a hand faintly to where he guessed Newt's shoulder would be under the blanket, and spoke in a soft, low voice.

"Hey Newt. You awake in there?"

The blankets groaned and shifted away from his hand. He took that as a yes, but still spoke gently.

"What's going on kid? Minho said you weren't feeling well."

"M'not. Go away, Adrian. I just want to sleep."

"You eat anything today?"

" ** _Shuck off,_** would you? I'm trying to _**SLEEP."**_ The words came out in almost a whine.

Shaking his head at the boy's petulance, Adrian made up his mind. He walked out of the sleeping shelter and into the open grasses of the meadow, taking only minutes to gather what he wanted. Not bothering to go to the med hut, he talked Frypan into letting him use the kitchen facilities for a little while. Less than an hour after walking away, he once again stood beside Newt's bundled form, this time holding two glass jars of liquid he'd cooled to lukewarm in the water barrel. He didn't bother with gentle tones this time, though, and nudged the hammock hard enough to have it widely rocking.

" _ **What the bloody hell do you want?!**_ "

"Brought you something." Adrian said, cheekily.

I _**TOLD** _you, I just need some _shuckin'_ sleep! _Why_ can't you get that through your _bleedin' head?!_ "

"Well, this should help with that." Adrian replied, sedately, prying up the edge of the blanket (to Newt's sputtering outrage) and gently sliding the sealed jars beneath it, one at a time. "Magic soup and sleep aid, first jar, drink it all down. You'll still feel like garbage in the morning if you don't put something in your system tonight. Something mild for aches and pains in the second, half now, half tomorrow morning. Should help you bounce back."

"You...made this for _**me?"**_

" _Nope._ " Adrian teased lightly. "I made it for some **other** whiny brat with a case of the sniffles. Couldn't find him, though, and I hate to waste it. Must be your lucky day."

The blanket roll shifted a little as Newt pulled the jars to his chest and cradled them in his arms, a little stunned at the unsolicited kindness of the gesture. Not quite knowing what to say, he tensed a little at the sudden seriousness in the man's voice when he spoke again.

"I'll leave you be for tonight, but **fair warning** ; if you don't manage to get upright and moving on your own by lunch tomorrow, I'll be marching back over here and dragging your sorry ass to the med-hut for a check up. _Whether you like it or not."_

His chest tight with a sudden spurt of fear at the idea, Newt shook his head frantically without realizing that Adrian couldn't see the gesture. The thought of Adrian seeing him like this, the slightest possibility that he'd be able to look at him and just **KNOW** , terrified him right down to his boots.

" **I'll get up, I'll be up!** "

"Good. That's what I want to hear." Adrian said airily, putting his hand on Newt's blanket covered head and giving it a kind of careless, comforting rub. "Sleep well, kid, I'll see you tomorrow."

Then, just as quickly as he came, Adrian was gone.

Newt rolled to his back, propping himself up into a more seated position once he was sure he was alone. After confirming his solitude, he let the blanket slip down to his lap as he studied the two jars in his hands. In the watery evening light, one glowed a clear golden color, and the other swirled with little bits of chicken, carrots, onions, and whitish lumps that must be some kind of noodle. Though he hadn't even thought about food, he unscrewed the top of the soup jar and lifted it to his mouth, carefully chewing the softened chunks and swallowing the rich clear broth. His stomach, still clenched into a hard bundle of nerves and nausea from the night before, eased as the palliative effect of the simple chicken soup filled and calmed his guts, soothed his sore throat, and even left him feeling calmer and more settled.

It _must've_ been magic soup.

He drank half the jar of painkiller, as instructed, then set the jars on the ground beneath him before he curled back up under his blanket, warm and cozy, and already starting to drift off. Thinking of Adrian's determination to take care of him, despite his (admittedly) cranky behavior, brought a little smile to his face. He felt a tiny spark struggling to grow in the darkness deep inside him; something warm and fuzzy at the man's refusal to leave him alone to suffer. His eyes fluttered closed as his lips formed the words he'd been too struck to voice earlier.

" _Thank you, Addy._ "

He smiled faintly, finding his way into a deep healing sleep.

* * *

In the bright sun and easy silence of early morning, Adrian sat in front of the familiar medical building and worked in his oversize notebook. Relishing the peace and solitude, he carefully added detail to a realistic sketch of a water-loving iris, the picture coming to life beneath his colored pencils. Carefully recording the identifying marks and useful properties of the plant, he would be completely content to spent all day with his book, his thoughts, and the fresh forest air surrounding him. He hadn't had much time the last week or so to work on documenting his knowledge, and he missed the quiet time spent with pencil and paper.

His tranquility was shattered by the loud voices of two boys rapidly making their way towards the med-hut, too engrossed in their argument to notice him for the moment. The leader, frustrated, concerned, maybe even nagging. The runner, snarky, uncharacteristically bitchy, and limping. _Well, at least he's out of bed_ , Adrian thought vaguely, continuing to shade a bloom in delicate purple.

"Look, I took a bloody tumble, okay? It's **not** the end of the world. I'll be fine in a couple of days if you'd just _leave me alone_ to shucking relax!"

Adrian's eyebrows drew together in confusion and his pencil stopped moving as he looked up sharply. _A tumble?_ Either the boy had some serious bad luck, or he'd been less than forthcoming about his health yesterday evening.

"Better to get looked at, just in case. You'll heal better with some help."

"I'd heal better with some sleep," Snapped Newt, "just leave me be, Alby."

" **Really?** " Alby asked, irritated. "So you'll hide in your hammock, _miserable,_ making the rest of the guys _around you_ miserable, then _what?_ What about next time? A couple of weeks ago it was that swinging tree branch to the shoulder, a week before that it was a fight with a prickle bush. Before that? A bashed toe on a rock in the stream. Face it my friend, you've gotten pretty _clumsy_ of late. It's better just to get looked at, get fixed up, especially now that we have better resources than we used to. The sooner **you** feel better, the less complaining **I** have to deal with."

"I don't need to be ' _looked at'_ , I just need a bit of a dust off and a nap!"

"Hey guys, what's up?" Adrian interjected, closing his book with a snap, cutting off the argument instantly. When Newt only sneered, face mutinous, Alby sighed, running a large hand over his clean shaven head.

"Newt _apparently_ face-planted down a hill last night, banged himself up some. Which I wouldn't have even _know about,_ " Alby said with a trace of accusation in his voice. "if _Minho_ hadn't been worried enough to send me to look for him when he wasn't in bed this morning. I found him hobbling back from taking a leak in the forest, and made an executive decision. Is Jeff here?"

"Sorry, you've missed him," Adrian replied, keeping his tone intentionally casual, getting to his feet and gesturing to the door. "I've sent him foraging, and he probably won't be back until this afternoon. I'm free though, I can take a look, patch him up."

"I'm _ **fine.**_ " Hissed Newt, "Just twisted my ankle. No bleedin' big deal."

"In that case," Adrian answered smoothly, "this should be quick and easy. Step into the office, and we'll get you sorted out."

When Newt refused to move on his own, Alby rolled his eyes, impatient with the drama and stubbornness of his best friend. Taking his shoulder in a no-nonsense way, he forcefully steered Newt into the newly completed room in the back of the hut, ignoring the dragging feet and anger coming off the boy in palpable waves. Adrian stepped in behind them, standing in front of the doorway to block any potential thought of escaping.

"Let's see."

Newt crossed his arms over his chest petulantly, starting at the ceiling and giving them both a classic dose of 'the silent treatment'. Sighing deeply, Adrian turned to the leader. "I'm pretty sure I can handle one cranky boy on my own, Alby. Why don't you head back, carry on with your day? I'll straighten him out and send him back when we're done. No worries."

Alby nodded, staring hard at the pale, defiant boy who was currently ignoring him entirely. Stepping out of the room, he turned to his friend and offered a kindly, if insulting, order.

"Stop being a whiny shank and just **deal** with it. Get looked at, get patched up, get some sleep. **_You're shucking welcome_**."

With those encouraging words, Alby briskly walked out of the hut and was gone. Adrian quietly closed the door behind him, turning the rough latch to secure the door in place. For a long moment he simply stood, studying the furious boy in front of him.

"You gonna tell me why you lied? Either to _me_ , last night, or _him_ , this morning?"

Cold, angry silence rolled off Newt in waves. Adrian buried a sigh, digging into his vast well of patience, and kept his voice brisk and business-like.

"Don't want to be here? Fine, I get that. Don't feel like sharing? That's up to you. But the longer you piss and moan about it, the more you fight, the longer it's going to take. Buck up, buttercup. Tell me what hurts and we'll get this done quickly so that you can get out of here and get back to your day."

Newt jerked a shoulder with ill grace , uncrossing his arms and lowering his gaze to the floor in ill-mannered defeat.  
Taking this as a sign of acquiescence, Adrian moved to stand directly in front of the boy. As Newt still refused to speak, Adrian decided to do a full check up and discern the damage himself. Using a firm but gentle hand, Adrian tipped the boys head up, carefully checking his face. An ugly bluish bruise cruised across his cheek bone, others in an ugly yellowish color smudged both sides of his mouth, and his lip was bloody from where he'd bitten it. Without asking, he ran his fingers lightly over the boy's scalp and the back of his head, satisfied when he felt no lumps or open wounds.

"Lucky for you, you've got a head like a rock. No damage there."

Newt snorted lightly in response, still refusing to meet Adrian's eyes.

Continuing his exam, he ran his hands down both arms, watching Newt's face for any change in expression. When he turned the pale hands to check the palms, angry red scrapes scored both palms, a typical injury found on those who've taken a fall. Stepping back a bit, he gestured at the new table the builders had made for him.

"Hop up, take off the shirt. We'll take a look at the rest, clean up the worst of those scratches, check your ankle. Then you're good to go."

Adrian stood back, matching his patience against Newt's stubbornness. After a long tense moment, Newt reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly peeled it off, dropping it on the floor and making no move to get on to the table. Adrian stepped around behind him, mouth twisting in sympathy. Ugly scratches covered the boy's shoulders, some with dirt and grit ground in. Dark bruises were visible at the top of his spine, and on on either hip, just above the waistband of his pants.  
A vicious bite mark, deep enough to break the skin, showed clearly at the base on his neck. Adrian reached out a hand hesitantly, gently touching the skin beside it.

" _What the hell..._ "

Newt was a blur as he whirled around, fist lashing out at the man. Adrian barely managed to move fast enough to avoid a broken nose.

" _ **Don't touch me!**_ "

Newt's eyes glittered with rage, with pain. With shame. His chest heaved as he took fast, furious breaths. Adrian studied the boy calmly, steadily. And he _knew_. His face showed none of the sickness and rage sliding through his own guts, his eyes didn't betray the pity and sadness he felt. His voice was quiet, soothing.

"You didn't fall this morning. I understand now."

 _ **"** **You don't understand anything!"**_

"I do." Leaving it at that, he held out a hand in a non-threatening way. "Let me help you."

" _ **Fuck this!**_ "

Newt rushed towards the closed door; quick but not quite quick enough. Adrian sidestepped in front of it, blocking the only way out. Furious, blind with it, Newt tried to shove the man aside. He might as well have tried to pull up a tree with his bare hands. Grunting, struggling against the still figure, his anger and bitterness spilled out of his mouth.

"You don't understand **anything!** Not a **_bloody_** thing! You have **no idea!** Get out of my way, you shucking _**slinthead!**_ "

Newt's fist seemed to swing out with a mind of its own, plowing into Adrian's stomach. Once, twice, and again. The man made no sound, waiting, waiting until Newt could find himself again and realize that Adrian wasn't the enemy. The boy fisted both hands in the man's shirt, trying to pull him away from the door, snarling up into his face.

" ** _Don't you get it?!_** I don't want you to touch me! _**I don't want anyone to touch me!"**_

 _"I know."_ The words were quiet, almost a whisper. The man's hands were hanging limp at his sides, where they'd been since he'd stepped in front of the exit.

The sincerity, the gentleness of those words finally worked their way into Newt's head and his vision cleared a bit, enough to realize what he was doing. Disgusted, appalled with himself, fighting for control, his leaned forward and rested his forehead on the man's chest, his breath hitching in his throat, shoulders trembling, hands still gripping the fabric of Adrian's shirt like a life line. The tears that had started to fall burned his eyes like acid, so he closed them in defeat. Moving slowly and with no sudden moves, as he might with a wounded animal, Adrian lifted a hand and gently rested it on the back of the boy's head.

"I know, kid. It's all right. I've got you. _I've got you now._ "

* * *

Author's note~

To the guest that left the latest review;

The world we live in today can be a hard, ugly place.

The world of James Dashner's Maze Runner is a harder, uglier place than any of us could imagine living in.

Even here and now, the strong prey on the weak, the cruel rejoice in the suffering of others, and many would do unspeakable things, if given half a chance and an assurance that no consequences would befall them. In the dark, desperate world of TMR, this holds true as well. The last chapter is a firm driving force for several upcoming plot points; I couldn't justify taking it out or dumbing it down. The best I could do, in this case, was offer blatant warnings and very clear divisions before the worst of it. I did this in hopes of allowing those who couldn't (or didn't want to) read every little detail to get the gist without having to risk being triggered. While I understand and appreciate your viewpoint, I stand by what I've written.

Yes, it was hard, and ugly. There's a fair bit of darkness in this story, and will be more that's hard and ugly before this all wraps up. Hopefully, at the end of the journey, those who choose to read to the end will understand the choices I've made here.

And on to the next chapter.

~Ruby


	27. A Solemn Oath

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Moving slowly and with no sudden moves, as he might with a wounded animal, Adrian lifted a hand and gently rested it on the back of the boy's head._

 _"I know, kid. It's all right. I've got you. I've got you now."_

* * *

Newt's chest heaved rapidly as his breath hitched in and out with the sobs he couldn't quite stifle, tears running down his face in an endless waterfall. His hands, still fisted in the man's shirt, trembled against the wide firm chest. Other than the hand on his head, Adrian didn't make any motion to touch the boy; not to pull him in closer or to push him away in disgust. Through the thick fog of anger and fear and shame that clouded his mind he could dully feel the large warm palm gently cradling his head. Adrian's thick thumb slowly and repetitively stroked his scalp in a wordless gesture of comfort, the feather light touch soothing in a way the boy couldn't voice. Time meant nothing; as the worst of the pressure in his chest began to ease, Newt realized he didn't know how long they'd been standing there in their odd embrace. Still, Adrian stayed still and silent until Newt's choking sobs had abated and his breathing slowed to a more natural pace.

"I know, kid, I understand. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. You don't have to say anything at all, if you don't want to. I understand."

Adrian's voice was very calm, very gentle, and pitched just above a whisper. He still didn't move, sensing that Newt wasn't ready to look at him yet.

"You've been really brave, buddy, really strong. And I know you're hurting, inside and out you're hurting worse than anyone could know. _I want to help you._ "

Newt tensed a little at the words but didn't move away, listening intently. Adrian's thumb still stroked his head, soothing, soothing.

"I want to help you. But, for me to help **you** , you have to _help me_ a little. I need to see where you hurt, so I can treat you and ease the pain. I'm not going to force you; _I'll never force you_. It needs to be your decision. Can you be brave for me a little longer? Be strong _,_ a little longer?"

Adrian had fallen into a tone and cadence more suited to a small child than a budding adolescent, and while he recognized it, he couldn't change it. From the moment he'd broken down, Newt seemed so small, so fragile, so...young to the man. Shifting slowly and intentionally telegraphing his moves, he slid his hand from the back of the boy's head to his uninjured cheek, easing Newt's face upward until they were looking each other right in the eye.

"Do you trust me, Newt?"

The boy's voice was hoarse from crying, the words a bare breath of air.

".. _.Yes_..."

"Can you be brave for me?"

".. _.y-yes._.."

"Good boy." Adrian said easily, without a hint of condescension. "Good lad. I knew you could be. Now, I'm going to make you a solemn oath. Here and now, me to you. _Okay?"_

Newt nodded a little, his eyes huge and very young at the thought of a shared promise. Adrian carefully lifted his hands to where Newt's fingers still tightly gripped his shirt, slowly easing the fingers out of the cloth and holding both the boys hands gently in his own. His eyes were bottomless pools of compassion and empathy, masking a burning spark of rage that was ruthlessly restrained for a later time.

"I've got you, now. I'm going to take care of you, now. And I swear, on _everything I am_ , I will **never** let anyone do this to you again. No one will **ever** touch you, force you, lay hands on you against your will. As of **right now** ; you're safe, kid. I promise. If they want you, they'll have to _go through me first_."

Newt's hands shook once, violently, in Adrian's light hold. Disbelief warred with the tiniest ember of hope in his eyes as he desperately wished to believe. He was still shaky enough that, in an unsteady thin voice, he said that words that he would no doubt be terribly embarrassed about later on.

"D'you mean it? _Promise?_ "

Adrian squeezed those shaking hands reassuringly.

"On my life. **I promise.** "

He eased Newt back a little, finally straightening from the door he'd been blocking.

"Now, let's get you cleaned up a bit, fix you up. Okay?"

Docile as a lamb led to slaughter, Newt let Adrian guide him back towards the exam table. He didn't protest or resist as the man turned him around and studied the raw scrapes and gouges in his back, flinching only a little as Adrian's fingers touched his skin, lightly exploring the worst of the wounds. Not wanting to startle the boy, Adrian made sure to move slowly and explain what he was doing, and why. Looking at the angry, vicious bite mark on the boy's shoulder filled him with horror and a hard frigid rage, and he started speaking only when he had to, trying not to allow his words to betray his own harsh, toxic feelings.

He cleaned the torn skin of the bite thoroughly with antiseptic, worried the whole time about the possibility of infection. He arranged the skin back to the proper position and used thin strips of medical tape to secure everything in place before applying an herbal antibacterial solution and a sturdy bandage. Moving on to the next injury, he used a pair of tweezers to efficiently remove all of the fine splinters and foreign matter that had lodged in the pale, abraded skin of his shoulders and back. Next came a disinfecting solution of alcohol on a cloth, which stung like mad and caused Newt to hold his breath, trying to make up for his earlier outburst with stoic endurance. Finally came a cool, tingling smear of healing ointment that eased the burn and almost completely leached the pain away. Turning the boy around, Adrian completed the same ablutions on his hands, wrists and face that he had on his back. Having finished treating everything above the waist, Adrian knew that the worst was still to come.

"We've taken care of everything topside," Adrian said gently, easing in as best he could. "Now we need to take a look at the rest. _Okay?_ "

Newt nodded, shivering like a leaf in the breeze, and reached for his belt hesitantly. He undid the buckle but his hand froze before he could get the pants open. He tried to force himself to go through the familiar motions, but he felt like he'd been petrified, turned to stone. He gasped and jerked a little when Adrian lightly laid a hand over his immobile fingers.

"Take your time, catch your breath." Adrian encouraged, his hand reassuringly warm and still on the boy's cold, clammy appendage. Newt gulped in a couple of breaths, trying to calm himself. He spoke his first words since Adrian had started treating him.

"I don't know if I can..."

"Newt." The man said simply, his tone even and bolstering. "You're _safe_ here. You're safe with me. You're doing _really well_ with this. Take whatever time you need; then, when you're ready, we'll start on the next part. _I've got you_. Okay?"

Looking into Adrian's face, seeing the concern and sincerity plainly written there, he hitched in another steadying breath. A feeling of absolute trust bubbled up into his chest.

"Okay... _okay._ I'm ready."

Moving quickly, before fear could reassert its grip, Newt pulled his pants open and dropped them to the ground, toeing off his shoes and standing in the office naked from the waist down. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling terribly vulnerable and exposed.

Adrian kept his gaze and his voice level, knowing how difficult this was for the boy.

"I need you to lay your chest on the table, feet on the floor and legs spread, so that I can take a look. Can you do that for me?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Newt nodded weakly, turning and arranging himself on the table with his backside presented to the room. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he focused on breathing steadily, fighting the growing urge to hyperventilate. He sensed Adrian move up behind him, and bit back a moan of mortification and fear.

" _Steady,_ kid. Try to stay calm. I'm going to have to lay my hands on you now, Newt, so that I can see what the damage is. Easy, now. I'm not going to hurt you. _You're safe here_."

All but crooning the words, Adrian gingerly placed his hands on the bruised skin of Newt's buttocks, gently spreading the cheeks and looking at his most private place for a moment before removing his hands and stepping away, rattling around in drawers and gathering supplies.

"You have some tearing, and are still freely bleeding. I'm going to numb you with a topical, then I'll clean things up back here. I'm going to need to put in a couple of stitches." Adrian said, as matter-of-factually as he could.

"Is it going to hurt?" Newt asked, a little tremulously.

"You'll feel me apply the numbing agent, which may feel a bit weird. After that, you shouldn't feel anything at all. If it hurts, let me know, and I'll numb it more so that it doesn't. Okay?"

"Okay." Newt breathed, more than a little relieved. "Wh-where'd you get the numbing stuff? In the medical supplies?"

Encouraged by the return of the familiar curiosity, Adrian answered as he worked, hoping the conversation might keep the boy's mind occupied and off what was currently happening.

"Actually, it's from a very specific type of mushroom. It's very effective, and I was lucky enough to find it growing here in the glade."

"A _**mushroom?**_ You're shuckin' _pulling my leg_."

Adrian moved back to the boy, once again parting his cheeks and gently applying the numbing compound, talking all the while.

"Not a word of a lie. Fungi make amazing medicinal remedies, if you know which ones to use."

"We had a shank try eating the mushrooms from the forest; he damn near puked up a lung! I thought we'd have to bury him in the graveyard, it was **that** bad. Mushrooms are _**dangerous!**_ "

Smiling a little, Adrian shook his head even though Newt couldn't see him, glad the boy was distracted as he started flushing the torn and battered flesh.

"As an old famous quote says, 'All fungi are edible. Some fungi are only edible once.'"

Newt let out a weak chuckle; weak, but still there. Adrian lifted his threaded needle, quickly putting two tiny, neat stitches into the torn external sphincter muscle.

"I think I'll pass, thanks. Death by _mushroom_ , especially with everything else we've had to face in this bloody place, is just about the **stupidest** shuckin' think I can think of!"

"To each their own." Adrian replied cheerfully, grateful the worst was behind them now. "But in this case, it did the job just fine and dandy. Just need a smear of ointment, and you're done."

" _ **Really?**_ " A little shocked at the announcement, Newt wiggled his hips a little experimentally, letting out a happy 'hmm'.

"It doesn't hurt! I don't feel anything! Did you already stitch me?"

"Yeah boy, I did." Adrian replied brightly, adding the cream to the raw flesh before moving away. "And that's all taken care of. You can get your undies back on, kid, the hard part's done. I'll clean your knees up, then you're free to go."

Newt stood up from the table hastily, head spinning a little at the abrupt change in orientation. Snatching his boxers off the ground, he hurriedly yanked them up his legs, feeling the relief flow through him once his delicates were safely covered. Once Adrian had quickly treated the relatively minor scrapes on his knees, he yanked his pants up over his hips and rapidly buckling the belt, thrust his feet into his runners, and breathed a deep, easy breath. Fully clothed, injuries tended and soothed, Newt felt mostly human again.

Adrian had considerately turned away while Newt was speed dressing, tidying up his supplies and setting a copper pot of water to boil over a fire in a high stone ring. Newt waited while the man worked, felling lost for words after the draining events of the morning. Was it even still morning? Before he could come up with something smart to say, someone rapped briskly on the office door.

"Hey? You still in there? What's the word?"

"Yeah, yeah, one minute Alby." Adrian called back, quirking a questioning eyebrow at Newt. Newt shook his head rapidly, his pale, panicked face clearly showed his desperate desire to keep current events a secret from the leader. Adrian held out both hands in a conciliatory motion, signalling the boy to calm himself.

" _I got it. Trust me_." Adrian whispered before moving to unbar the door and let Alby in.

"You're in luck." Adrian told the leader placidly. "We just finished up."

"Yeah?" Ably stated, eyeing Newt with a little concern and a fair bit of suspicion. "What's the diagnosis, Doc? We givin' him a _last meal_ and kissing his miserable butt _goodbye_?"

"Hardly." Adrian snorted, taking charge of the conversation before Newt could get riled enough to step in. "He'll be good as new before long. Some R&R, light duty for a while, then he'll be off to the races."

"What the **shuck** happened to him?" Alby demanded, narrowing his eyes at his old friend but clearly directing the question to the man, obviously unwilling to take Newt's word for it. The blonde boy held his breath, his guts churning at the thought of how Adrian would answer.

"Well, I think we may need to find a way to build some kind of protective bubble for him." Adrian answered, a slightly forced teasing hint in his voice. "It's not everyday that someone can manage to trip over their own feet not once, but twice in less than two days."

Alby turned back to the man, his face a study of confusion.

"What?"

"Our boy here has a knack for the dramatic." Adrian answered, flicking his gaze to Newt, warning him with his eyes to play along. "He went a-wandering in the bush the other night, in the dark, and in the true manner of his delicate graceful self, ended up putting his foot through a rotten log and fell ass over eyeballs. Scratched the hell out of his back and earned himself one righteously bruised tailbone. Then, last night, he slinks off to have a nice little pee, doesn't watch where he's going, and ends up face first in a sapling. Botched his hands, his knees, battered his ugly mug. He's all patched up, but with that damaged tailbone he won't be running for at least two weeks, maybe three."

Alby nodded mutely, visibly relaxing a little and accepting Adrian's words at face value. Newt internally sighed in sheer gratitude; the man's plausible and to the point words had convinced Alby in a way that Newt could never have hoped to.

"So, what should I do with him in the meantime? If he can't run, I need to fine something-"

"I'll take him." Adrian asserted, casual confidence in his voice. "I could use an extra body for training Jeff, running drills and scenarios with him. He can help with my book, as well, and I'll see what else I can teach him."

"That works." Alby agreed, thoughtfully.

"And he can bunk at my place until he's healed." Adrian added over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought. Both boys stared at him, questioning. Adrian merely shrugged carelessly, pouring the now boiling water into a clean jar half full of herbs and flowers. "I've got an extra sleeping space at my place; if he's there, the rest of _you guys_ don't have to listen to him whine."

"I know the boys built you your own place out in the woods; still don't know why you couldn't just bunk with the rest of us, but whatever. Haven't had the chance to see it yet, though. You sure you've got enough room for him?"

"You're welcome to take a look now, if you like." Adrian said evenly, capping the jar and wrapping it in a small piece of cloth. "I'm gonna dump him there for the day, let him get some rest. He can get back to work tomorrow."

"Sounds good." Alby grunted, relieved that things appeared to be well taken care of. "I'll feel better when I can see where the shank'll be. And I can see he'll be in good hands."

Newt watched the exchange as if it were a tennis match, mildly miffed that they were talking about him like he wasn't even there, making decisions for him as if he were a little kid. All things considered, he opted to keep his mouth shut and just let Adrian handle Alby, not wanting to jeopardize Adrian's carefully constructed story and give Alby any reason to doubt the events leading up to his injuries. And, if he were honest, he was pretty well chuffed to be able to hang out and sleep in the man's comfortable – and **safe** – home.

"Well." Adrian announced, stuffing the cloth wrapped jar into a rough bag and dusting his hands off emphatically, slinging the strap over his shoulder. "Let's get going boys; some of us still have work to do today."

The trio made their way out of the med hut and started towards Adrian's small house. Less than a third of the short way there, Newt was dragging behind, limping and visibly wincing as the tried to keep up. The man stopped until the boy caught up, stepping right up close to him and looping an arm gently around his waist. Newt started at the touch, looking up at Adrian sharply.

"You're probably feeling aches and pains you didn't before, right?" The man said quietly, cautious to pitch the words low enough that Alby couldn't hear them. "Now that the biggest pain has been treated, all the others that you couldn't even feel before are making themselves known, loud and clear. Yeah?"

" _Yeah_." Muttered Newt. Now that the raging, fiery pain in his backside had been all but erased, he could feel the rest of his body protesting; the muscles in his arse, thighs, calves complained worse than after a long day in the maze. His knees also felt weak, creaking painfully at each step.

"Almost there." Adrian urged and, avoiding the boy's bruises and wounds as best he could, took most of Newt's weight. Unable to answer, the boy hesitantly looped his arm across Adrian's back, holding on for support. Syncing their steps, they made it back to the house together without further incident.

Alby was already standing in front of the small building when they walked up behind him, clearly admiring the sturdy structure. Hearing them, he let out a low whistle.

"Pretty impressive, greenie. Wouldn't mind a few more like it in the glade."

"I'll talk to the builders." Adrian replied, releasing Newt and going up to the door. "I showed them all the techniques necessary; putting them into practice on other buildings would be good for them."

He reached above the roughly hewn door frame and pulled down a small slender stick about six inches long, with another short stick secured perpendicular to main shaft near one end and twine wrapped tightly around the other. He inserted the odd looking thing T first into a slot on the door near the handle and turned, producing a distinct _chhhk_ sound. He removed the stick and pushed the door open, waving the leader inside.

"Shuck _**me**_." Alby said, a touch of wonder in his voice. "You even built a lock? _An actual working lock_? From nothing?"

Adrian wiggled his eyebrows, again gesturing for Alby to step inside. Once he had, Adrian returned to Newt and helped the boy inside.

It took Alby some time to take in the various features of the man's living space, eyeing the bed with clear envy, running a hand over the down stuffed pillows, examining the sink and shelves and new chairs and table with a covetous expression on his face. He finally plopped himself down on the couch, groaning at the soft comfort of the unexpected luxury.

"Well?" Adrian asked expectantly, waiting beside the chair he'd deposited Newt in. "Is this an acceptable place for Newt to stay while he heals?"

"Forget _Newt_ , _**I**_ want to live here. Want a room mate?"

Adrian laughed, shaking his head and not bothering to answer. When Alby managed to pry himself away from the couch he coughed a couple of times into his hand, a tad embarrassed at his slightly childish behavior. He walked over to the man and held out a hand, giving the one offered in return a firm, brisk shake.

"Thank you for taking care of my friend."

Adrian nodded.

"It's no trouble, and I'd say anytime...but let's hope this doesn't become a habit."

Alby nodded himself, turning to his still silent friend. Newt's skin was quite pale, and sweat shone on his upper lip. He was obviously still in pain. Alby felt a small surge of guilt at how he'd berated his second in command earlier that morning, and was ashamed of his harsh, uncaring words.

"I'm glad you're gonna be okay, man. Rest, get better. I may be the leader, but you know I'm not worth klunk without you."

Newt smiled wanly at the darker boy, the tiny kernel of anger from their argument melting away completely.

"No worries, mate. With Addy patching me up, I'll be right as rain and back to keepin' you in line in no time."

"Good that." Alby said, turning and heading back to the glade with a lazy backward wave, leaving the man and the boy on their own.

Adrian took a couple of jars out of the bag he still carried and set them on the table in front of the boy. The slightly cooled one he'd concocted just before they headed out, another of golden colored liquid, and a small bottle of some greasy looking lotion stood in a neat line when Adrian cast a curious sideways look at Newt.

" _Addy?_ "

Newt flushed a little.

"It's just a bloody nickname. I could go back to _Mary,_ if you like that one better."

"Addy's fine." Adrian sighed, rolling his eyes. He pointed a blunt tipped finger at the jars on the table, changing the subject abruptly.

"First jar, antibiotic and mild laxative. You won't have the squirts, but you won't be particularly solid either. It's for the best." Adrian said firmly, talking over Newt's instinctive protests, rolling right along. "With the tearing and the stitches, I don't want you...pushing...you know? Not until the stitches are out and the muscle's healed. Two swallows now, same before bed, same in the morning. Three times a day. This cream," Adrian picked up the little jar, making it dance back and forth. "you'll use just before and right after you move your bowels. It'll numb the area a little, and is also an antiseptic to help prevent infection. Last, this is a painkilling tea. Again, two swallows, same time as the other. Questions?"

"What if I don't want to use all this gunk?"

"Then you'll be in pain. And, as I hear you **don't** suffer in silence, and you're staying in **MY** house, I'll probably end up _smothering you in your sleep_ so that I can get some rest."

"Ah." Newt said vaguely, a little unsure at the utterly serious tone Adrian had used. "I think I'll take my meds like a good boy." He picked up the jars in turn and drank from them while the man watched narrowly.

"Good choice."

Adrian headed towards the door after ensuring the boy had taken his first dose, more than ready to take a few minutes to himself.

"I'm going to latch the door so no wandering boobs stumble in. I'll bring you some lunch in a couple of hours. Have a lay down, relax, sleep for a while. I'll be back."

"Ta, Addy. _Really_ , thanks for-"

The door closed and latched with a click before Newt could finish his sentence. Scowling a little at the firmly closed door, he huffed out a breath and eased himself over to the bed, gingerly lowering himself onto the soft pad. Staring up at the ceiling, his brows furrowed and he muttered a little to himself.

"What the bloody hell _crawled up his arse_ all of a sudden?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adrian knew that it had been a bit rude to walk out on Newt as he had, but he really, really needed a little time to himself. He'd always been good in a crisis; calm, cool and collected, he pushed through ugly harsh situations with a steady hand and steely mind. Not one to panic, or give in to useless anger or sorrow when he was needed, he could always be counted on to do what needed to be done without falling apart. It wasn't particularly noble; as far as he was concerned, he had plenty of time to vent after everything was squared away.

As he stalked through the trees on the way back to the med hut, the expression on his face was down right dangerous. His movements were jerky, anger radiating from him as he futilely tried to calm his rapidly building temper. A skittering sound in the brush behind him had him spinning in a circle, bracing for an attack. Eager for one.

A flash of silver zipped up a tree, disappearing into the thick cover of the dusty green leaves.

Adrian laid his clenched fists on the bark of a large old pine tree, breathing deeply, trying not to think. He began to tap the bark with his fist softly, rhythmically, not really aware of what he was doing. His hand picked up the pace, pounding the tree harder, and faster, until he was all out punching the wood, adrenaline coursing through him as he swung both fists at the unforgiving surface. His shoulders burned and sweat dripped down his back as he pummeled his fists against the trunk, a red haze of rage clouding his vision.

When his vision and mind finally started to clear he was standing with both palms against the tree, head hanging low, panting for breath. His bangs hung damply in front of his closed eyes. Better, emptied of the anger for the moment, he straightened and moved to swipe the sweat from his brow.

Thick dark red blood flowed freely from his swollen, shredded knuckles.

Shaking his head at himself, not yet feeling the pain, he continued on towards the med hut.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jeff had returned from his foraging mission by the time Adrian stepped back into the familiar building. His ready enthusiasm for the day's lesson on herbal medicine quickly dissolved into concern and frustration at the sight of Adrian's tattered flesh.

"What the **shuck** happened this time?!" The med-jack exclaimed, equal parts worry and exasperation in his voice.

"Had a little boxing match with a tree. I think it won."

"You _**don** **'** **t**_ say?" Jeff retorted sarcastically, already reaching for the antiseptic and bandages.

"Yeah well, sometimes needs must. You know how it is. Besides, you could use the practice. Tweeze the wood and bark out, disinfect, stitch. Consider it a learning opportunity."

"I have a feeling I'm going to learn a ton while you're here." Jeff muttered, pointing to a bunk and assertively taking control of the situation. "Now hold still. This is going to sting like a mother."

* * *

Author's note~ The quote "All fungi are edible. Some fungi are only edible once." Is a quote from Terry Pratchett

See you next chapter.

~Ruby


	28. Holy Crap

Author's Note ~ I hope you enjoy

* * *

 _"I have a feeling I'm going to learn a lot while you're here." Jeff muttered, pointing to a bunk and assertively taking control of the situation. "Now hold still. This is going to sting like a mother."_

* * *

Newt hadn't thought that he'd actually be able to sleep; he'd spent so much time hunkered down in his hammock over the last two days that the idea of sleeping through another day made him feel restless – and useless. The stress of the morning, however, and the roller coaster of emotional lows and fearful peaks had left him mentally drained. Before he knew it he'd slipped into a deep, restful sleep. Hours later, a gentle hand lightly shaking his shoulder brought him back towards the waking world. Caught in the twilight between asleep and awake, forgetting where he was, he felt a moment of panic at the touch. He froze, torn between fighting his way free of the hand and feigning sleep in an attempt to trick whoever it was into leaving him alone. Then a familiar voice, murmuring quietly, cleared through the fog in his brain.

It was Adrian. _Of course._ It was only Addy.

Newt groaned himself up into a seated position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching stiffly. When he got the room in focus, he saw the man standing patiently by the bedside, a contemplative look on his face and a steaming bowl in his hand. Adrian set the bowl carefully on the bed beside the boy, tucking his hands into his pockets and stepping away to gaze out one of the windows, the shutters now thrown open to the early afternoon light.

"Feeling?" He asked easily.

"Like a new man." Newt assured between mouthfuls. For the first time in days, he actually had an appetite. In fact, he realized after the first bite that he was absolutely famished, and he demolished the bowl of overcooked grain and vegetables with great satisfaction. Licking his spoon clean (and contemplating giving the bowl the same treatment) Newt gave the man the beady eye, the wheels turning as he tried to work things out in his head.

In the course of one day, Adrian had been strongly assertive, a bit of a bully, completely understanding, amazingly gentle, almost painfully kind, lightly teasing, and unquestioningly supportive. He made Newt feel safe, protected, even a little strong and brave. He'd flat out lied to Alby without any hesitation; keeping Newt's secret and preserving his dignity. He'd welcomed Newt into his home, all but carried him there, then joked with the leader. Then, without warning, he'd been calmly demanding about the meds, mildly threatening to assure his compliance, and more than a little distant and coolly dismissive before he just walked away without a backward glance. Now, on his return, his easy level demeanor had mostly returned but there was still a sense of separation, a hint of distance. He focused hard on the man's back, trying to puzzle him out. _And through it all,_ Newt thought to himself, _he never once wavered or hesitated in his determination to help me._

 _How could one person wear so many faces, all in a single day?_

"Addy?"

Adrian turned smoothly, hands still in his pockets and his face studiously blank.

"Yeah kid?"

"Thank you. For... _helping_ me, for letting me stay here. _Thank you_."

A soft smile eased across the man's face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"No thanks needed. Let's just work on getting you back on your feel, alright?"

"Yeah. That sounds like a bloody plan, alright."

"Good." Adrian nodded, satisfied, glancing over his shoulder and out the window once more. "Now that you've been fed, I have something I want to work on outside for a while. You can join me if you like; keep me company. Or you can hang out in here until I'm done. Then we'll head back and meet up with the rest of the guys for dinner." His tone was friendly enough, but there was a barely discernible hint of strain behind the ordinary words.

"I'll come with you." Newt said, relishing the idea of being outside and having someone to talk to. As much as he enjoyed Adrian's home, now that he was awake lolling inside like a lump would just make him feel like an invalid. He may not be up to running, but that didn't mean that he had to just sit inside and sulk, either.

"Take a couple of minutes," Adrian advised, "do some easy stretches to wake up and loosen up your muscles. I'll be just on the edge of the clearing when you're done." So saying, he turned and strolled out, leaving the door open at his back.

Newt rolled his eyes a little but got up and did as the man suggested, gently working some of the kinks out of his body before heading out of the little building. The pain was still there, especially in his nether region, but it was far more bearable now after the rest and medication. Determined to suss out what was bothering Adrian, Newt went after his friend.

He carefully made his way across the grassy clearing, heading toward the man who, true to his word, was clearly visible at the edge of the small area. The scraping sound of metal repeatedly hitting dirt broke the otherwise serene silence of the day as the man energetically worked at digging a hole deep into the ground; he'd already gotten down a couple of feet by the time Newt joined him. A decent size mound of long grass and thin twigs, a bigger pile of long branches in a variety of thicknesses and a fat ball of twine lie in an orderly fashion a dozen feet away, all clearly brought in earlier. Wanting to offer a hand but unsure as to the man's plan, Newt picked a spot that wasn't in the way and gingerly sat down on the ground with his back against a tree, deciding to watch and wait for the moment.

Adrian had removed his shirt before he started digging, and sweat gleamed dully over the bare skin of his back. Old rags wrapped around both of his hands, protecting exposed flesh from the threat of blisters or splinters from the battered old shovel. Newt watched the muscles in his arms stand out as he lifted shovel after shovel of dirt, a little impressed with the smoothly efficient rhythm he maintained. Newt admired the strength of Adrian's back, his shoulders and stance as he fully applied himself to the task at hand. Life in the glade was rugged, and a sturdy physicality wasn't just vastly beneficial for a person as an individual; as a group, they could use every strong back they could find. With nothing else to do at the moment, Newt found himself thoroughly studying the working man.

In the dappled light at the clearing's edge, faint shadows were all that was left of the bruising on his ribs and back. Scars, some old enough to flatten and blur, others new enough to stand tight and shiny, stood out like pale paint strokes against his lightly tanned skin. The dark blue ink of his tattoo – a phoenix, Newt remembered – rippled as he moved, making the simple looking bird dance across Adrian's ribs as though it were trying to pull itself from his skin and fly away. Newt wondered fancifully if it would fly far and fast to escape the prison of pale red and orange fire flickering at its feet, or if it would merely stretch its wings before gratefully returning to the blaze.

He remembered how Adrian had once brushed off his questions about the scars, closed up tight at his query about the tattoo. Wondering over it all, trying to piece together a way to approach the subject that wouldn't cause the man to shut down, Newt's mind ran in fast little circles as he stared. Adrian's voice startled him out of his contemplation.

"Just ask. If I don't want to tell you, I won't answer."

"What?" Newt asked blankly, a little shocked.

"Ask the question, or knowing you, the _questions_ that are buzzing around in that skull of yours."

"How did you know..."

"Kid," Adrian stopped him, both exasperation and amusement in his voice, "You've been staring holes through me for almost half an hour. If you were thinking any louder, you'd be scaring the friggin' birds away. If you've got something burning a hole in your brain, just ask already. Worse comes to worst, I can always tell you to shut up and mind your own."

"How did you get all those scars?" Newt blurted, any idea of easing into the subject stripped away.

"I was afraid it would be something like that." Adrian sighed, sounding too weary for irritation. He chucked the shovel up out of the hole which, by now, was fully shoulder height. He planted his hands on the surface and, with a little grunt of effort, jumped and boosted himself out of the hole. Not speaking, he walked over to the pile of branches and picked up a machete that must have been lying out of sight, grabbing a thick shortish branch and shaving one end into a sharp point. When he was finished, he picked up another, then another. After a few moments of silence Newt called out, hesitating a bit.

"You have...so many, old and fresh...If you **don't want** to tell me..."

Adrian shook his head, still sharpening his sticks.

"I know you're only asking because you're curious. Still, sometimes it's better to leave the past in the past. And **that,** " Adrian sighed, stopping to rub a hand roughly over his face, "is a cop-out. _Alright._ Fine. I'll give you the abridged version."

He picked up the dozen sticks he had whittled, dropping them beside the gaping hole in the ground. Using the handle of the machete as a hammer, he began pounding them into the opposite wall of the hole at an angle, stabbing the sharp end into a point about two feet below ground level and laying the rough end over the edge of the side at his feet, bracing the mouth while leaving an opening at the center.

"The outside world can be a dangerous place." Adrian said carefully, keeping his hands busy as he spoke. "When you do the kind of research I do-I **did,** " He corrected, a little bitterly, "you have to go into some pretty sketchy places, some pretty rough areas. Not everyone is friendly. I told you before that 'I'm damn good at what I do; careful, thorough, discrete' – and I am. But information always comes at a cost. My old scars are a testament to that, and they shout the message pretty loud and clear. Still, not all pain is physical. When you have no choice but to do...ugly things, it leaves a mark far more permanent than a new stripe on your hide. Sometimes 'careful' means _avoiding_ a fight, sometimes it means **winning** one. Sometimes 'discrete' means _going unseen_ , sometimes...sometimes it means **taking out** those that have seen you." His voice was quiet now, resigned and tinged with a shadow of sadness and regret. "The information that I sought was too valuable, too _vital_ , too _**important**_ to loose. I've done some awful things in the pursuit of knowledge, kid. The deepest cuts, the oldest scars from those actions will never be seen my _skin._ "

Newt didn't stop to think, his words just tumbled out.

"I'm sure you only did what you had to do. That doesn't make you a bad guy. It doesn't change who you are."

" _Didn't it?_ " Adrian asked softly, a clearly rhetorical question.

Finished with the bracing, Adrian brought an armload of thick branches over and lay them across the open mouth of the hole, first in one direction and then perpendicular to the first layer, until he'd managed to cover all but a two foot section directly above the middle of the muddy pit. He retrieved his shovel and was covering the branches with loose, discarded dirt before Newt dared to speak again.

"And the...fresh scars?"

"Those?" Adrian replied, speaking more easily now. He stabbed his shovel into the ground and leaned on it for a minute, rolling his shoulders as he considered his answer. "I already told you how that happened. I got cocky, I got caught. Like I said, information's valuable. The guys that got hold of me figured they'd try to beat certain things out of me. They pounded on me, burned me, whipped me, starved me. Shocked me with electricity. When I still refused to speak, they...finally gave up, and _arranged_ for a one way ticket here. No doubt they were behind the wire and the bolts, those lovely little party favors I had when I came up here." Adrian sneered a bit as he explained, but shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other and went back to his dirt, cataloguing the brutalities that had befallen him as if they were a slightly distasteful memory. Newt was horrified.

Images of Adrian bound, burned, bleeding flashed vividly in his mind. He imagined the whistle and crack of a whip, the gnawing pain of hunger, and couldn't wrap his head around how casually Adrian spoke of it all.

"How did you stand it?"

Again Adrian shrugged, stamping the fresh dirt down firmly.

"Sometimes you don't really get a choice, kid. Everything considered, there are some things I'd _gladly_ die for; and when it comes to the knowledge I've gathered over the years? I'd _kill_ myself in a heartbeat before allowing it fall into the wrong hands."

" **Don't**." Newt said sharply, " **Don't** you _bloody_ say **klunk** like that, about _dying_ or _killing yourself_."

"I'm just **one** man, **one** life. Sometimes, there's _more_ at stake."

" _ **Just don't**_." Newt demanded tersely, jaw clenched.

"If you like." Adrian replied, making another trip to the piles of supplies and returning with an armload, sitting on the ground and hacking some fairly sturdy branches into roughly two foot lengths. While Newt watched in angry silence, the man bound the short wooden poles together tightly, side by side, until he had a long enough section to form into a circle. Firmly tying the last piece to the first, he made what looked like a small and surely leaky bottomless barrel about two feet in diameter. He lashed the bottom edged of the cylinder to four longer sections of sturdy branch, then carried the whole weird concoction over to the covered pit and placed it over the central hole.

"Why-"

"I think it's my turn to ask a question." Adrian said firmly, cutting the boy off. "Hold tight, be right back." He strode briskly over to the back of the house, returning shortly with a battered metal pail full of water which he promptly emptied over an extra mound of loose earth. He added bunches of dry grass and mixed them in the sloppy mud, making a thick gooey mess. He took chunks of the messy substance and packed it around the outside of the wood cylinder and the surrounding base, covering everything in a thick coat of mud and grass.

"You had a question?" Newt demanded, baffled at the man's actions. What the hell was he building?

"Ah yes, right." Adrian replied absently, engaged in his creation. "A couple of times now, I've caught a glimpse of strange little metal creatures skulking about. They don't appear aggressive, but I've yet to be able to take a good look at one. What are they?"

"Beetle blades." Newt answered shortly, thinking of the widely despised and irritatingly intrusive pests. "We don't know for sure what they are, but most of us think they're some kind of monitoring system, a way for the slintheads who sent us here to watch us."

Adrian nodded sagely, not looking the least bit surprised as he smoothed the top of the hollow tube into an even surface.

"Makes sense."

"Nothing here makes sense." Newt muttered. Adrian just chuckled dryly. "Speaking of; what in the bloody hell are you making?"

"Creature comfort." Adrian replied, stepping back from the mud covered lump and admiring his work.

"What kind of comfort is a hole in the ground?"

"Use your imagination," Adrian demanded. "Four walls around it, a roof overhead, a circular seat with a hole in the center fastened on top of the tube, a spot to hang some nice soft paper. Figure it out yet? A nice, private little..."

"You're kidding. You're putting all this effort into making a bloody toilet?"

"Well, yeah. Every guy needs a throne, doesn't he? Besides, squatting in the bush is the absolute pits."

Newt rolled his eyes, torn between frustration at the apparent frivolity of it and pleasure at the idea of actually having access to almost civilized facilities.

"Holy crap, Addy."

"No pun intended." Adrian said cheerfully. "Now, I should let this set up overnight before I do the walls and roof. I'll get cleaned up, then we'll go see what Frypan's thought out for supper. Sound good?"

Newt looked up at the sky, surprised to find that it was already late afternoon.

"Sure, works for me."

"Perfect. Back in a few." Adrian called over his shoulder, hustling his muddy self around behind his little house. Newt sat and waited, thinking deeply.

Despite the dark story and clear violence behind his old scars, Newt wouldn't – couldn't – believe that Adrian was anything but a good man. _There's just no way that someone with that much kindness, that strong a desire to help could be a...a villain_ , Newt thought, unable to come up with a better word. _He's so steady, so bloody easy going. Whatever harsh things he's had to do, whatever he thinks of himself, he's not a bad man. How could anyone torture someone like that? How could he speak so easily of it, like he'd just stubbed his toe or twisted his ankle?_ Newt's stomach rolled greasily as horrific scenarios danced behind his closed eyes. As he took several deep breaths to try and calm the nausea, he remembered that he hadn't asked about Adrian's vast changes in mood over the course of the morning; he'd been completely side tracked by the candid glimpse into the man's hard and ugly past. A specific phrase surfaced and reclaimed his attention. _I **hate** it when he talks about dying like it's **nothing**. I can't stand it. I don't know what I'd do if...if he...died... _

Phantom pain at the very idea struck him like a fist in the gut, almost leaving him gasping.

He couldn't stand it. He wouldn't allow it. It wasn't going to happen.

Consumed by his thoughts, he didn't hear Adrian approach; all of a sudden, he was just there.

"Ready?"

Newt opened his eyes, looking up at the now clean man; still shirtless, hair wet, and patiently holding a hand out to help the boy to his feet. He took it, letting Adrian pull him up. Just before he released it, Newt spotted something distressing across the man's knuckles and, with surprising strength, firmly turned the hand so he could study the raw red scrapes and neat lines of black stitching across the damaged skin.

"What..." he started to ask before he grabbed Adrian's other hand, yelping when he found it in a similar condition.

" _What the bloody hell is this?_ "

"Just letting off a bit of extra energy." Adrian replied evenly, looking over Newt's shoulder and not meeting his eyes.

"By **bashing** your hands to _bits?_ What did you do, beat the snot out of a _tree?"_

Adrian quirked his eyebrows and tilted his head a little, a gesture clearly conveying 'yeah, pretty much'.

"Why the he—wait." Newt stopped himself. He realized he was gripping Adrian's wrists hard enough to grind bone on bone, and the man hadn't so much as winced. He let go as if the skin under his fingers had burned him, disgusted that he'd added to Adrian's obvious pain, connecting the dots in his head. "Does this have anything to do with you _nagging_ at me and _bolting off_ this morning?"

"I _needed_ to let off a bit of extra energy." Adrian repeated, moving away to retrieve his shirt and pull it on in an motion too jerky to be casual.

"Why?" Newt pressed, refusing to drop it. Adrian whirled back around to face the boy, chin up and eyes blazing. He spoke very, very quietly, but in a tone that would never be mistaken for calm.

" _ **Because**_ what was done to you makes me _sick_ to my _stomach._ **_Because_** I couldn't shake the _rage._ _**Because**_ if I _didn't,_ I was afraid I would _hunt down_ the guys who **hurt** you and..." He broke off and dropped his head, scrubbing both hands through his wet mop of hair and making it stick up in messy little cowlicks all over the place, his lowered face crumpled in misery.

"Look, I got it out of my system, it's done. _I just_...I needed to **_vent_** , okay?"

Newt's eyes were huge in his head as he tried to comprehend what was going on. The sight of Adrian's injuries had rattled him, but the obvious distress the man was feeling now, combined with **why** he was feeling it, allowed Newt to better understand the vast differences in mood he'd displayed that day. He felt an unfamiliar warmth spread in his chest and, following his gut, stiffly shuffled over to stand right in front of the man. Hesitant, unsure, he reached out and wrapped both arms timidly around Adrian's waist. He felt the man shudder a little before hugging Newt back, gently wrapping his arms around the boy's shoulders, still mindful of Newt's injuries despite his own turmoil.

For a long moment they stood locked in a loose embrace, each drawing comfort from the other. Finally Newt pulled back a little and slanted a cocky glance at the man, suddenly afraid that the spontaneous gesture of affection would make things awkward between them, and desperate to say something that would shift them back into their normal easy banter.

"If we don't hustle, the other shanks will lick even the pots clean before we get our supper."

"Wouldn't **that** be a terrible loss." Adrian said drily, shifting to loop an arm around the boy's waist and taking his weight, supporting Newt as they started walking towards the cook hut. "I would _hate_ to miss out on what's _surely_ another five star meal." Relieved that the distance between them had evaporated and grateful that the careless camaraderie was back, Newt chuckled all the way to dinner.

* * *

Author's Note~

For anyone who hasn't read the books; beetle blades are smallish remote controlled mechanical camera devices that look very much like a little metal mutant lizard. They didn't show up in the movies, but are an important part of the book series.

A big thank you to BrySt1 and Rosalie Barvik ~

3 Thanks for your reviews, and I'm so happy that you're enjoying the story! 3

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	29. Lean On Me

Author's note~ I hope you enjoy

* * *

 _"Wouldn't that be a terrible loss." Adrian said drily, shifting to loop an arm around the boys waist and taking his weight, supporting Newt as they made their way towards the cook hut. "I would hate to miss out on what's surely another five star meal." The careless camaraderie between them back, not hint of tension in their banter, Newt chuckled all the way to dinner._

* * *

Adrian and Newt could hear the bustling dinner crowd long before they fully came into view, voices overlapped and melded into a rowdy chorus of enthusiasm for the end of another day. At the edge of the trees, just out of sight of the dining gladers, Adrian carefully released his hold on Newt and stepped away.

"If I help you over to the tables, _every_ guy on the other side of those trees is going to pester you as to what's going on." Adrian stated in a matter-of-fact voice. "It's best if you walk in on your own two feet. I'll grab us some grub and meet you at a table."

"Yeah, sure." Newt replied, watching Adrian saunter over to the dinner line as if he hadn't a care in the world. Newt absently rubbed at his upper arm, suddenly a little chilly without Adrian's warm shoulder to lean on. Ignoring the feeling, he limped his way to the closest table and sat gingerly, grateful to take a load off. He scanned the dining area, wondering whereabouts his usual motley crew were. As if the very thought had summoned him, Minho popped up seemingly out of nowhere and approached Newt cautiously.

"How're you feelin'?" Minho asked, warily eyeing his friend and shifting to the balls of his feet. Just in case. "Still yanked off about me _narking_ on you this morning?"

"I should be." Newt replied, giving the keeper a bland stare. "Probably **would** be, too, if Add- **Adrian** hadn't patched me up. So, although your complete inability to _leave things the shuck alone_ frustrates the snot out of me, I **do** in fact feel better now. It'll still be a week or two until I can run again, though."

Minho's face relaxed into his usual cocky lines and he dropped onto the bench beside Newt, satisfied that there was no hard feelings from that morning.

"Yeah, well, I'd say I was sorry but I wouldn't mean it. _Seriously_ , man, you looked like something a griever coughed up. What did you _**expect**_ me to do? _Walk away_ and leave you to _suffer?_ In **ANYTHING** but silence, might I add."

"Whatever, Min. It's done, and dealt with. We're all good."

"That's good to hear." Minho said smugly, mischief twinkling in his eyes as his natural sass resurfaced. "Maybe your new _bestie buddy_ can give you something to put you out at night, so the rest of **us** poor souls don't have to listen to **you** whining yourself to sleep in your hammock for the next two weeks."

Newt flushed lightly.

"I'm staying at Adrian's place until I'm back to full again, so **you** lot won't be bothered by my _'whining'._ No need to worry about your beauty sleep. And, maybe that way _**I'll** _actually get some sleep myself instead of being kept up all bloody night by **your** earth rattling **snoring.** " Newt retorted sharply, mildly embarrassed by the pinch about his whining. A couple of boys walking past heard the comment, stopping for a second to listen before moving on.

"You're _sleeping at his place?_ " Minho asked, startled. "Why?"

"He offered." Newt shrugged. "And it's _definitely_ more comfy than a bloody hammock."

Minho just narrowed his eyes suspiciously, studying his friend as the wheels in his head turned. Unsure as to the man's motives, concerned for his friend, he settled himself in for a serious discussion.

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Adrian waited patiently in line, absently running through various plans in his head as the guys ahead of him were served. He constructed the walls around his new privy in his mind, considering and rejecting a few ideas before settling on what he hoped would be the simplest and quickest to build, toying with small tweaks and additions that would make it both comfortable and welcoming. Hopefully, once he'd completed this project and could show the others how convenient and practical it was, he could convince them to roll up their sleeves and build a row of outhouses for the rest of the gladers to use.

 _ **God**_ , he missed indoor plumbing.

He'd just started to design a larger multi-use version when someone stepped up beside him, invading his personal space and demanding his attention. He recognized the ugly sneering face immediately.

" _Wes_." He acknowledged mildly, fully aware of the tenor of their last meeting and not bothering to add a greeting.

" _Adrian_." Wes returned in the same voice, an excited gleam in his beady little eyes. "We overheard something a little funny a minute ago, _didn't we_ boys?"

The two boys who were hanging back a little appeared to be Wes's closest confidants; they nodded jerkily and muttered in agreement, like poorly controlled sock puppets. Adrian briefly pitied their obvious obliviousness. _Something tells me these two were absent on the day God was handing out brains,_ Adrian thought wryly.

"Well, we heard that you're moving a _certain_ blonde runner into your little _love shack_ in the woods." Wes smiled greasily, apparently trying for a chummy buddy-buddy type of conversation and failing spectacularly.

"And if I am?" Adrian asked, feigning interest.

"Whatever pops your cork, man, but I figured I'd better warn you; if you're looking for a ' _girlfriend_ ' you might want to reconsider your choice. Or, _at least_ , look for someone who actually **puts out**."

All three of the boys laughed at that, nasty snorting giggles that caused heads to start turning in their direction. Adrian struggled to hold on to his instant and instinctive rage at that comment, and smiled a thin dangerous smile at the thugs.

"Thanks for the tip; I'll keep that in mind."

Wes punched Adrian's shoulder in faux solidarity, hitting him far harder than was strictly necessary. Adrian didn't flinch, watching in speculation as the trio quickly marched out of the dining area and off to who knew where. His appetite completely gone, he didn't bother getting anything for himself when he reached the front of the line. Grabbing a portion for Newt, he made a beeline to where he'd seen the boy settle. The blonde appeared to be in the middle of a mild argument with his runner friend when the man approached the table, though both parties cut off abruptly when they noticed him coming. Adrian slid the bowl of beef and potatoes in front of Newt, nodding a greeting to Minho.

"I just remembered that there were a couple of things I was going to ask Alby about." Adrian announced, not bothering to sit down. "I'll join you guys later."

"What about _your_ dinner?" Newt demanded, stopping the man before he could leave.

"I had a big lunch, so I'm not really hungry. I can always grab something later." Adrian said, brushing off the boy's concern and striding away purposefully. He vaguely heard them start arguing again as he was leaving, but intentionally ignored the words and left them to sort out their own differences as he sought out the leader of the glade.

He found Alby on the far side of the area, leaning against a tree and half-listening to the joking and squabbling of the boys at the nearest tables. Adrian was glad to see that he was, for once, pretty much alone and instantly seized the moment.

"Hey. Mind if I steal you for a few?" He greeted the boy, sliding his hands into his pockets and slanting a glance at the unoccupied forest adjacent. "There's a couple of things I want to pick your brain about. Care to join me for a walk?"

Alby nodded in agreement and fell into step beside the man, easily picking up on his desire for privacy. As soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of the gladers, Alby shot a sharp look at Adrian.

"Newt?"

" **Nah**." Adrian reassured. "No worries there. He'll be good as new before you know it."

"What's up, then?" Alby asked curiously.

Biding his time, wanting to put a little more distance between them and possible eavesdroppers, Adrian started outlining his ideas for building public outhouses; he explained the general construction of the facilities, the benefits to the gladers versus the burden of the initial outlay of effort and materials, and the possible locations that would be most appropriate for such a construction. They dickered over details and the pros and cons until they were deep in the woods, and Adrian was sure that they were absolutely alone. Once they'd come to an agreement with the nuts and bolts of the idea, Adrian broached the other subject that was on his mind.

"Since I got here, I've been mostly keeping to myself at night; sleeping alone in the privacy of either the med-hut or my own place." Adrian began, choosing each word with care. "Now, I've got **no** issues letting Newt crash at my place while he heals; if it bothered me, I wouldn't have offered. Having him there, however, does bring _something_ _else_ to mind. You guys mostly sleep in fairly close quarters; rows of hammocks and sleeping bags grouped together under one main roof, yeah?"

"That's right." Alby confirmed, confused as to the direction of Adrian's thoughts.

"Well, knowing full well that we're stuck here, _together_ , and realizing that privacy is at a _premium_ , I was wondering how to go about getting a bit of.. _.personal time_." Adrian explained delicately. "Sometimes you've got to... _take care of business_ , and I much prefer doing so **without** an audience. If you get my meaning"

"Yeah, I got you." Alby replied, oddly relieved at the direction the conversation had taken. After all, they were all guys, all in their prime, and they all had needs. One of the most common things a greenie asked about was so called 'personal time' and all of the senior gladers were very familiar with the term. Adrian's rather tactful wording was a welcome change from the normal crude phrasing usually used by frustrated randy boys, and he reworded his usual answer to match.

"Most of the guys who've been here for any length of time do what needs to be done in bed after dark; after a while you get used to the night noise of so many people and just tune it out, like the snoring. No one can see anything else in the dark anyway, and most of the guys try to be as considerate about their activities as they can. As for those who are looking for a bit more privacy...they usually pick a place out in the woods to do their thing, somewhere that another glader isn't likely to come _bumbling_ across them and ruin the mood."

"I figured that was the answer." Adrian sighed, projecting an air of resignation. "Going solo is going to get **real** old, **real** fast. You'd think that the _least_ those slimy bastards that sent us here could do would be to send us up a little _companionship,_ at least once in a while."

Alby hesitated, glancing around to check that they were still alone.

"Actually," He said quietly, "There ** _is_** an alternative."

Adrian quirked a brow, feigning disbelief.

" _Really_ , now? You've got a couple of lovelies with a certain _lack of morals_ hidden away in the salal, do you?"

"Not _exactly._ " Alby shifted, a little uncomfortable with this explanation, as he always was. There was no telling exactly how a greenie would react to this particular topic, and he wasn't partial to a bloody nose should the conversation take an ugly turn.

"There are a number of guys who are...willing to... _lend a hand_ , so to speak. They scratch **your** back, you scratch **theirs.** Most of us end up going there sooner or later. As long as both're _willing_ , there's nothing wrong with getting a bit of 'help'."

Alby heaved a great internal sigh of gratitude when Adrian accepted the information without batting an eye, even nodding in an understanding way.

"Perfectly reasonable." Adrian agreed, rubbing a hand over his chin and thinking deeply. Satisfied with his reaction, sympathetic to the man's situation, Alby made a sudden decision to impart one last piece of information. After all; he was a grown man, coming to them from the outside world where there was surely a variety of choices. Being cut off from everything he used to have - and being able to remember it - might even be even more hellish than being stuck here with no memories at all. He took one last paranoid scan of their surroundings, uneasy but determined to see this through. His voice dropped even lower, until he was all but whispering.

"There's _one more thing_. I don't usually share this with a greenie; _a lot_ of the guys don't know about this, and some of the shanks who do are _pretty_ against it. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this part under your hat."

Adrian nodded assent, his gaze level and non-judgmental. He had a pretty good idea as to what came next.

"There are...three guys that offer...the **full package** , so to speak." Alby managed, "Most can't get past the idea of doing... _ **it**_...with a guy, so they primarily keep to themselves. But I swear, it's like they're _always_ up for it, and they've learned the hard way to be very, very discreet. If you can stomach the idea, and you find you need something more than just a hand in the dark, I'll give you their names."

"I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions, and I'm _honored_ that you'd trust me with this - rather sensitive - information." Adrian said softly, sincerity ringing in his voice. "I imagine those three have probably had a rough go of it here, and things could get pretty ugly for them if this was made public. I won't breathe a _shred_ of this to anyone, you have my word."

In tactic agreement, the duo turned and started back towards the dining area. A few minutes before they would have stepped out of the trees, Alby reached out a hand to stop the man for a moment, keeping his voice low and neutral.

"Do you want those names?"

Adrian looked him right in the eyes, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply, considering.

"...Yeah. I do."

Alby didn't flinch; no condemnation or revulsion showed on his face. He crossed the distance to the dining area and, staying concealed behind a poorly built section of wall from one of the supply huts in the area, cautiously peeked around the corner and sought out the faces of the boys he was looking for. Finally spotting them, he waved Adrian over, pointing out a group of six or seven that were loitering around a table at the edge of the area.

"The tall skinny blonde guy is Alec. The shorter, kinda chubby one with the dark pony tail is Stephen. And the dark skinned guy across from them, average build and shaved head, that's Brandon. Alec and Stephen are sloppers, Brandon's with the track-hos. The few guys with them are their close friends, and they don't seem to have a problem with their... _appetites_ , but I'd wait and approach them when their alone, if I were you."

"Thanks man." Adrian intoned, clapping a hand to Alby's shoulder, and committing the names and faces to memory. They'd come in handy later. Each went their separate ways, slickly sliding back into the now area without anyone noticing. Mindful of the asian boy's dislike of his habit and taking care to keep his smoke from wafting over Minho, Adrian joined him and Newt at the table where they lingered. The air was a little tense, and the man deliberately spoke in a joking tone to change the mood.

"Why so serious, boys? Discussing _world peace?_ "

"What was that about? Why the sudden need to run off, just out of the blue?" Newt demanded, ignoring both Adrian's comment and Minho's frustrated stare.

"Just a couple of things I needed to ask our fearless leader about. Hashing out plans for the next project, negotiating details, sorting out placement, that kind of thing. Can't get started until all the tedious bits are worked out." Adrian said breezily, looking across at Minho and tilting his head in acknowledgement of the boy's suspicious gaze.

"What project? What are you-"

"I swear, you just _never_ run out of questions. Since you're just _dying_ to know, it's the same project I told you about this afternoon. And speaking of projects, there are a few things I want to work on tonight, so I better head home and get started. You can wander over when-"

"I'll come with you." Newt interjected, wincing his way to his feet. Minho let out a disgusted snort and rose as well, turning and walking away without bothering to say anything at all. Shaking his head at the other runner's attitude, the man held out a hand to steady Newt as he extracted himself from the bench.

"Start heading back; I've got to grab a couple things. I'll be right behind you."

Walking into the cook hut, it took only moments for Adrian to find the supplies he wanted and liberate them from the cheerfully helpful cook. Raiding the general supply hut took a little longer and, by the time he caught up with Newt, it was getting dark. The boy was almost half way back to the house, breathing hard and limping painfully, moving forward with dogged determination. Intentionally making noise so as to not startle him, Adrian stepped up beside him and once again slipped an arm around Newt's slender frame, supporting him the rest of the way.

The relatively short trip had been exhausting for Newt, and he gratefully eased down onto the couch as soon as they got inside. Adrian bustled about; bringing the boy his medicine, closing the shutters, and lighting candles that filled the house with a warm homey glow. As Newt relaxed and tried to catch his breath, Adrian got out a flat cardboard box and sat at the new tall table. To Newt's baffled fascination, he began pulling out bundle after bundle of...

"What the _**bloody hell**_ are you going to do with _**that?**_ "

Adrian flashed him a cheeky grin, hands busily sorting dozens of little bundles of hair into piles according to length.

"Nothing goes to waste. With a little imagination, you really can make _something_ from _nothing._ "

Shaking his head at the non-answer, Newt scooted down until he was laying in a flat out sprawl, toeing off his shoes and relishing the sinful comfort of the cushions. Hearing the boy release a deep weary sigh, Adrian abandoned his activity for the moment and went over to the bed, retrieving his player and bringing it over to the couch. A little leery about sharing his prize possession, but wanting to offer Newt a bit of escape, he held out the earbuds.

"Put these in your ears. I want to show you something."

Newt obliged, a little confused. The man thumbed a couple of buttons on the little square, scrolling through until he got to a specific set of songs. Programming a list and turning the volume down to low, he hit play. Newt's eyes popped open wide as the music began to play in his head.

.

 ** _Sometimes in our lives_**

 ** _We all have pain_**

 ** _We all have sorrow_**

.

 ** _But if we are wise_**

 ** _We know that there's_**

 ** _Always tomorrow_**

.

 ** _Lean on me_**

 ** _When you're not strong_**

 ** _And I'll be your friend_**

 ** _I'll help you carry on_**

.

 ** _For it won't be long_**

 ** _'Til I'm gonna need_**

.

 ** _Somebody to lean on_**

.

"What...how..."

"Music has always been a **_huge_** part of who I am; it's _freedom_ , release, **comfort**. It can _lift_ you when you're low and _soothe_ you when you're running hot. Just listen. _Immerse_ yourself. Let it take you away for a while."

Adrian spoke with reverence, and a truly profound love. The emotion in his voice was so genuine, so stark, Newt could feel a hot prickle at the back of his eyes. He closed them quickly, to ward off the tears he couldn't quite understand. A wide, warm palm rested gently on his forehead for a moment, a fleeting gesture of care and support before the man walked away. Listening, focused on absorbing as much as he could, Newt did as the man asked and let the music carry him away.

Adrian returned to the table and continued sorting the little pony tails, finally ending up with five piles that satisfied him. Pulling out some soft old rags, thread and a needle, he worked intently for hours. He glanced over periodically, checking on the boy as he slept; he was silent, still, and peaceful. When the night was more than half gone, Adrian tucked his project into the box with the leftover hair and stowed it away, exhausted but satisfied at his progress. As he was slumping his way towards the bed, he heard a little hiccoughing sound and changed directions, quickly going to Newt. The boy's eyebrows were drawn together and his brow furrowed, his face was pale and showed a light sheen of sweat. His breathing increased in speed as he squirmed a little in his sleep, making a sound like that of a cornered animal deep down in his throat; the sight ripped at Adrian's heart.

Ever so lightly he placed his hand back on Newt's head, hoping to pacify him without exacerbating things. The boy stopped moving and moaning but his body stayed tense, his mind clearly receiving conflicting messages. Adrian lifted the little music player with his free hand and, with a glance, confirmed his suspicion; it had finished running through the customized list, leaving Newt in utter silence. When he restarted the list, Adrian swore he could actually feel the tension start to drain out of the boy's body. As the music threaded into his slumbering consciousness and released him from whatever dream had him in its grip he was, quite quickly, once again peacefully sleeping.

Adrian removed his hand, sighing in relief. Watching Newt for a moment just to assure himself that everything was alright, confident that the boy was fully asleep, he whispered the thoughts that had been circling his head for the last few hours.

"I can't go back and undo what was done to you; I can't save you from the _past_. But I can— _ **I will**_ —stop it from happening again. And, maybe, if I do this _just right_ , I can make sure that ** _no one else_** ever has to suffer like you did. Lean on me, kid, _I won't let you down._ "

Heaving himself to his feet, Adrian shuffled over to his bed and unceremoniously flopped onto it face first. Those five words repeated over and over in his head as he slipped into an exhausted sleep, words that rang with steely determination.

 _I won't let you down._

* * *

Author's note~

The song in this chapter is **Lean On Me** by **Al Green**

See you next time!

~Ruby


	30. Brave or Foolish

Author's note ~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Five words repeated over and over in his head as he slipped into an exhausted sleep, ringing with steely determination._

 _I won't let you down._

* * *

Newt woke early the next morning, feeling rested and refreshed. He felt a little stiff, a few twinges here and there, but remarkably good over all. He pushed himself into a seated position, pulling the little buds from his ears and smiling down at the music player in his hands. _Bloody marvelous thing,_ he thought fondly. _I don't even remember the last time I slept so well. Just another thing to be grateful to Addy for._ Getting up, he retrieved his medicine from the table where Adrian had left it for him, figuring it was only fair to take the bitter brew like a good boy. Leaving the jars and the player on the wooden surface, he looked over towards the bed. A little surprised to find the man still sleeping, he approached quietly; torn between letting him sleep out of consideration and waking him up just to be a pest.

Adrian was laying flat on his stomach, arms raised above his head with his face turned slightly towards Newt. His back rose slowly, steadily, and he showed no signs of being near to waking on his own. Mischief got the better of the boy; after the sheer strength, tenacity, and determination the man had shown time and time again, Newt simply couldn't resist taking advantage of his vulnerable state. It was also, he decided, a perfect time for a little retribution. Shoulders shaking a little with suppressed laughter, Newt reached out and lightly danced his fingers over the man's bare ribs, calling his name in a soft sing-song voice.

"Addy. _Aaaaaaaddy._ "

The man scooted over a little, his eyebrows drawing together before he turned his head and buried his face in the mattress, grumbling in his sleep as he pulled his arms up to cover his head. Delighted, snickering at the reaction, Newt knelt on the bed, reaching out to continue tickling the man. Growing bolder, he traced the outline of Adrian's tattoo with his fingers, feeling the muscles start to tense under his touch.

" _Aaaaaaaddy._ Say _uncle_ , Addy."

The man turned away and curled into himself, head still hidden beneath his arms, and muttered something incomprehensible. His breathing had picked up pace a bit, but he was somehow still not awake. Absorbed in his game, Newt shuffled closer, his knees touching the man's back as he tried for a new angle. Bracing one hand on Adrian's waist, he reached his wriggling fingers down towards the tight flesh of the man's belly. Surely this would get the reaction he was looking for.

"Payback time, _Addy_. Say un-"

Adrian's hand moved like a whip, grabbing Newt's wrist in a vice like grip. He rolled over in one fluid motion, holding the boy's arm aloft and forcing him to scramble back or get pinned. Newt, stuck in an awkward position half on and half off the bed, winced a bit as the man's grip tightened enough rub bone on bone. Adrian's eyes were open, but the normally clear green was murky and dim, and his face was hard and blank. A little frightened, Newt kept very still and spoke clearly, trying to keep his voice level.

"Addy. Adrian. It's Newt. It's just me, Newt."

A hint of recognition sparked in his eyes and Adrian blinked slowly, once, twice, clearing his vision. With his brain finally connecting the dots, the man immediately released Newt's wrist, stretching hugely and sitting up as the boy adjusted to a fully upright position. He watched the man with narrowed eyes, rubbing his wrist and sulking a bit.

"What the bloody hell was _that_ about?"

Adrian scrubbed his hands over his face and through his mop of hair, trying to clear the sleep haze from his brain by sheer will alone, yawning his way through his answer.

"Instinct. Only the brave or the foolish would **dare** to try and get my ass up this early, _especially_ in a place with **no freakin' coffee.** "

Gaining his feet with another huge yawn, Adrian grabbed his shirt from the chair he'd tossed it on and pulled it over his head. Noting that the boy was still staring at him, he quirked an eyebrow.

"What were you doing, anyway?"

Newt flushed a little and looked away, mumbling under his breath. Adrian only understood about every third word.

"...just tryin'...payback.. _.tickle_..."

The man chuckled, making Newt blush harder.

"Feelin' frisky this morning, were you? Well, _just for the record_ , I'm not ticklish. Nice try, though."

The pair headed outside, going in separate directions to empty their bladders. Afterwards, while Adrian was having his morning cigarette, Newt contemplated the agenda for the day.

"It's delivery day." Newt told the man, frowning as he thought things through. "I'm not feeling like a load of klunk anymore, so I should head over and give the guys a hand sorting and storing the supplies."

"Not an issue." Adrian agreed amiably. "Just move carefully, and **no** heavy lifting. I'll go in with you, but then I'll have to ditch you and work on my own projects."

Mutually satisfied with the plan, they made their way towards the cook hut for a quick bite before they got to work. Newt was still limping a little but he held his own, and Adrian was pleased to see that he no longer needed physical support to manage the trek to the center of camp, though he was a little winded when they arrived. They grabbed a walking breakfast from Frypan before parting ways, Newt heading towards the box and Adrian walking over to the ramshackle farm in the opposite direction. Easily spotting the robust keeper of the glade's garden workers, Adrian lifted a hand in greeting and called out.

"Hey Zart, good morning. Got a moment for me?"

A boy of relatively few words, Zart just grunted in assent, not bothering to stop weeding the carrot patch he was kneeling in. Adrian crouched down near him, deftly pulling up the irritating invasive plants shoulder to shoulder with the busily working boy. They weeded in silence for a few minutes before the man broached the subject that was on his mind.

"I'm working on a trial for something that, **_I_** think, will make things a lot more comfortable for everyone here. Problem is, I could use a bit of extra help – and a strong back. Do you think you could spare one of your guys for the day, maybe two, to give me a hand?"

Pleased with the unsolicited assistance, appreciating the man's willingness to work and his lack of hesitation to get his hands dirty, Zart grunted again. He even went so far as to favor Adrian with three whole words.

"Fine. Take one."

"Thanks." Adrian said, rising from his crouch and dusting the dirt off of his hands. He scanned the area briefly before appearing to choose a boy at random, pointing at his choice.

"You look like a _strapping_ guy. Care to take a break from the vegetables for a couple days and work with me instead?"

"Sure, if that's what Zart wants." The dark skinned boy replied, looking over at his keeper for confirmation. Zart didn't lift his head, he just waved at them impatiently and carried on with his work. The boy got to his feet and followed the man as he made his way towards the dry supply storage area.

"So, Adrian, what do you need me to do?"

"Well, first things first. You know my name, what would yours be?"

"I'm Brandon." The boy said, smiling to hide his slight nerves at being singled out by the man. "Pleased to meetcha."

"Likewise." Adrian said cheerfully. "Now, as to what we're doing...we're going to recruit a couple more pairs of hands, then I'll show you."

Leaving the baffled Brandon standing outside, Adrian knocked his knuckles against the post at the entrance to the largest supply hut, walking inside without preamble. After a short conversation with Fynn, keeper of the sloppers, he managed to dragoon two more aides and stepped back out with them in tow. The three boys looked at each other, each suddenly a little tense and unsure as to what the purpose of their gathering could be. At Adrian's careless gesture, all four trouped their way back to the little house in the woods. When they all stood, isolated and alone in the woods, Adrian turned to the anxious trio.

"When it came up in conversation that I needed to draft some help, it was mentioned by someone that you three get along well and make a _good_ team. So," Adrian said, a little sparkle in his eyes, "Brandon, Alec, Stephen...Let's get to work, _shall we?_ "

* * *

Leading them along, showing them what he wanted to do, Adrian worked with the boys for the rest of the morning. After they got over their initial wariness, they settled easily into the rhythm of cutting long tree branches, digging post holes and constructing walls. As they relaxed conversation, stilted at first then rapidly becoming more friendly and amiable, punctuated the physical labor. By noon, the skeleton of the walls and roof supports were up and beginning to take on a substantial flesh of packed mud and grass, and a mountain of twigs and branches were piled up to finish the structure. When they took a break for lunch Adrian sat with the boys; eating, talking, and laughing with them as though they were all old friends. He noticed a handful of curious glances and even a few decidedly unfriendly stares from some of the other boys, but he intentionally ignored them and concentrated instead on the subjects at hand.

After they'd finished their meal and returned to their task, it took only another hour or two to finish up the small building. Now complete with high thin windows and a sturdily mounted door with an interior bar to hold it closed, the facilities were open for business, and Adrian was very pleased. Sweaty, dirty, tired but happy with the results of all the effort, Adrian lead the motley crew around to the back of his house and over to a decent size water barrel that he'd hauled in and filled in a few days previous. Everyone was thrilled to strip off their shirts and pass a wet rag over their skin, washing the grime and perspiration from their arms and faces and chests.

"There's still a few hours until dinner," Adrian commented after looking up at the sun overhead, flopping his soiled shirt over his bare shoulder with a sharp snap. "and I sweet talked Frypan into giving me half a dozen rolls with jam before we came back from lunch. Care to help me make sure they don't go to waste?"

Eagerly accepting the invitation, Brandon, Alec and Stephen followed the man into the house, staring in wide eye wonder at the completely unique living space. Leaving them to their gaping, Adrian pulled on a fresh shirt and filled three clean jars with water from his jug, setting them on the table and opening the bag of preserve-sweetened buns. The boys gratefully helped themselves, gulping down water and sweet bread, relishing the treat. In hardly more than a few heartbeats they'd demolished the buns, drained the water, and yet Adrian made no move to tell them they were done for the day. They exchanged curious glances, eyeing the man in speculation. Brandon, the most forward of the three, cleared his throat decisively.

"Well, if there's nothing else you need help with..."

"As a matter of fact, there is one _other_ thing." Adrian stated, walking over to the door and closing it firmly, turning the latch with a sharp click. The three boys swallowed nervously, stepping back a little as the man turned around. Adrian sighed wearily.

"I'm not going to **_eat_** you, for pity sake. Sit down, would you? I just want to talk for a minute, ask a couple of questions."

Crowding together on the couch, the boys sat on the very edge of the cushions; taking comfort from the proximity of each other, they braced themselves and waited in silence. Adrian shook his head at their instinctive fear, pulling a chair out from the table and dragging it around and seating himself so that he was eye level with the boys.

"Honestly, you lot look like I'm about to hand you a cigarette and a blindfold."

"Is this why you asked for **us**? What do you want? Why did you _lock the door?_ " Brandon demanded, speaking for the group as a whole. Adrian just rolled his eyes.

"I want to talk to you about sex." He said simply, cutting the questions off abruptly. "I assume that you'd prefer this conversation _not_ be heard by any of the other gladers, yeah?"

Stunned, Brandon shared a worried look with Alec, while Stephen all but melted into the couch in distress. Fixing an angry, defiant look on his face, Alec stepped in.

"Look, I don't know **who** you _think_ you **are** , but we don't care what _**YOU**_ or any of those other stupid shanks think! We _don't_ bother anyone, and we can **_do_** what we _**want!**_ If you don't like it, you can just **shuck off and get out of our faces!** "

"It's been rough for you guys here." Adrian said calmly, his face sympathetic and free of judgment. "The others are probably pretty cruel to you, singling you out as different, sneering at you, trying to make you ashamed of _who you are_. You are young, healthy individuals who have found a way to satisfy your physical needs with other consenting individuals. **There is nothing wrong with and no shame in that**."

"What would you know about it?" Stephen asked, trying for superior but ruining it with a little sniffle.

"Sex is _ **just sex**_." Adrian stated firmly, trying to phrase his thoughts in the simplest, gentlest way possible. "Even in ancient times people understood that sex was a natural act; a form of release, an activity the body needs to stay fit and healthy. It wasn't until relatively modern times that people started seriously looking down on and belittling those who engaged in those acts with members of their own gender. In a society made up of all males? Of _course_ there's still going to be sex. But, even when options are severely limited, there are going to be those who are.. _.uncomfortable_ with the idea of turning to someone of their own gender for physical intimacy. I'm sorry if latching the door made you uncomfortable or gave you the wrong idea; **you are free to stay or leave as you choose.** I won't stop you, **any** of you, if you decide you want to go. I just wanted to see to it that we could talk freely _without_ you having to worry about being outed. No more, no less."

Reassured by the fact that Adrian appeared to be openly accepting of them, each were still relieved that they weren't being _forced_ to stay. Unable to ignore the utter sincerity in the man's voice, the boys quickly calmed. Nodding mutely in acknowledgment and acceptance of his words, they waited for him to continue.

"With all that being said, I have a proposition for you."

They exchanged looks amongst themselves, considering.

"Well," Brandon said slowly, "If you're willing, we could probably-"

"Okay, _whoa,_ stop **that** train of thought at the station." Adrian said firmly. "I'm not after a bit of fun for myself. And before you get ruffled all over again, it's **not** your gender that bothers me." He stated definitively, "You're just **far** _too young_ for me; I have no interest in getting physical with a kid."

"Then what do you want?" Brandon asked, head spinning from the convoluted conversation.

"I have an idea that may _improve_ your quality of life around here – one that will allow you to do what you like to do best, _without_ recrimination and **with** full acceptance from the rest of the gladers. If you're interested and willing, I _think_ I can create a system that will benefit everyone. And if it works? No one here will **ever** look at you with disgust or repugnance again."

There was a long, loaded silence as the boys thought that through.

"What do you have in mind?"

Adrian picked up the box containing the results from his long night of work, taking the top one out and holding it up for the boys to see.

"How do you guys feel about playing dress-up?"

* * *

Author's note~ A short update this week. See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	31. New Rules

Author's note~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Adrian picked up the box containing the results from his long night of work, taking the top one out and holding it up for the boys to see._

 _"How do you feel about playing dress-up?"_

* * *

Heading to dinner that night, Adrian felt really positive about the events of the day. While the boys were initially shocked and (understandably) a little hesitant about his proposal, after some back and forth and a great deal of explaining all three had agreed to give his idea a try. With a bit of arts and crafts, a fair amount of creative tailoring and no small application of smoke and mirrors, Adrian was confident that he could turn the three outcasts into the most sought after company in the glade. If everything went according to plan, it would also appreciably improve their quality of life in the process. Giving his new friends some time to themselves to consider and absorb the information from the afternoon, Adrian immediately sought out Alby, Zart and Fynn, in turn. Staying deliberately vague on the details of the project, it didn't take him very long to secure agreement from each boy to keep his new help for a full week instead of just a day or two. While grateful for the extension, Adrian still felt the pressure of a time crunch; there was a **lot** of work to do.

Stopping at their table just long enough to tell Brandon, Stephen and Alec to meet him at the house right after breakfast, he left them to discuss in private and gladly joined Newt and Minho for a hard earned meal. The runners were animatedly discussing supplies, storage, distribution, and organization. He heartily applied himself to his meal, listening to the chatter around him but not actively participating. When Newt cast a couple of questioning glances his way he shrugged it off, more interested in his meat and potatoes than on updates as to how the levels of flour or baling twine were holding up. As he was polishing off his meal Adrian spotted Jeff getting up to leave and hopped up, loping over to catch the med jack before he could retire for the night. He could feel Newt's eyes on his back as he discussed the next level of training with Jeff, and knew he'd probably be getting peppered with questions at the soonest available opportunity. Wanting an early night, he collected Newt and they headed back to the house together, and Adrian silently commended the boy for managing to wait until they'd stepped through the door before unleashing his curiosity.

"What was that all about? What's going on?"

"Hmmm?" Adrian replied, intentionally playing dumb.

" **Come** on." Newt demanded, exasperated. "I'm not some klunk-for-brains **kid**. You steal a trio of shanks from their keepers, getting all _buddy-buddy_ with them at lunch. While I'm up to my neck in the bloody supply room, might I add. And just now, you can't even be bothered to talk to us at dinner, but you're off chatting up Alby, the keepers, Jeff. What are you up to?"

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies." Adrian responded in a jokey sing-song voice.

"Well, if you can't be _arsed_ to tell me," Newt scowled, jerking a shoulder in ill temper, "then by all means, keep it to yourself. I'll just go to bed so I'm not _bothering_ you. Feel free to sit with those three _numptys_ tomorrow at dinner; Min and I will get along just **fine** and **dandy** without _your company_."

"You know," Adrian said, coldly. "I **do** believe I can sit with, eat with, speak with _anyone_ I please. I'm, generally speaking, a fairly amiable person. I don't see any problem in having a meal with the guys who've been _working their asses off_ to help me get the structure for the outhouse built and up, guys who're _really decent company_ even when they are up to their armpits in mud or hanging off a roof truss to hold it in place while I lash it down. Their sweat equity saved me a lot of time and effort, I'm not going to just ignore them when the job is done."

Newt hunched a little in shame, feeling his face start to burn as Adrian drew a long breath and continued.

"As for my conversations with Alby, the keepers, Jeff? Do you remember why I'm here? Do you not _recall_ my _pledge_ to do _everything_ I can to better the quality of life here for _everyone?_ Including you?"

Newt mumbled something unintelligible, not looking at the man.

"You're jealous." Adrian sighed, softening his tone a bit and rubbing two fingers over his temple, mentally shaking his head at the utterly stereotypical teenage reaction. "Allow me to clarify. You're my good friend. I feel very close to you; I enjoy your company, and that _hasn't changed._ I also made you a promise. I told you I'd look out for you, keep you safe. **That promise has no expiry, no conditions apply.** There is no fine print – _I got you, kid_. Becoming friends with some of the other boys does not mean I'm suddenly going to toss you aside and disdain you in favor of some _'new bestie'_. I'm not ignoring you, replacing you, or ditching you. _Understand?_ "

"If you're not ditching me, then why were you so quiet at dinner? You were so distant."

"I was a little distracted, going through the plans for various projects in my head. And I was brutally hungry, so you'll have to **excuse me** if my plate held more of my focus than your dialogue on which weights of twine are running a little low."

"Why don't you want to tell me what you're working on? You don't trust me?"

"It's not about trust. And _I never said_ I wouldn't tell you." Adrian explained, patiently. "But _neither_ am I obligated to run every little detail and thought by you. I don't mind you asking questions, kid, but you need to remember it's _my choice_ whether or not I answer them. Especially when you skip the asking part and go straight to demanding."

Newt flushed brighter, utterly chagrined.

"Now. I'm working on one or two things are still in the concept stage; if they come to fruition, you'll see them first hand. You know about the outhouse; it was a lot of heavy work, but we got it most of the way there with the time put in today. I asked the keepers if I could borrow the guys for a little longer so I can get things squared away and, thankfully, they agreed to the loan."

"You could have asked _me_ for help." Newt said, still a little put out.

"Not for construction; you're not ready for that kind of work yet. I was _going_ to ask you for help with something else, though, **if** you're willing."

That perked the boy right up. Adrian bit back a smile at Newt's enthusiastic response.

"What's up? What do you need me to do?"

"While I haven't been able to spend much time with Jeff over the last week, he's already learned so much of what I've showed him that I think he's ready for a new challenge. To reach the next level, he needs more **hands-on** experience. Not on your injuries," Adrian assured, swiftly cutting Newt off before he could begin to panic at the idea. "I'm not talking about him **actually** working on **you** ; you've been treated and are healing up, right on schedule. What I need is someone who has the time to stand in as a 'practice doll' for Jeff, so I can see how he would treat specific, common injuries and ailments that might turn up in a place like this. What I'd _**like**_ to do is send you to the med hut in the morning with a list of 'symptoms' or 'injuries' that he has to address. You play along, let him 'treat' you throughout the morning, _however_ he sees fit. I'll pop in around lunch, see how he did, then, again using you as a dummy, I offer corrections and demonstrate _other_ methods for dealing with the same situation."

"That would be helping you?"

" **Of course**." Adrian snorted. "I can tell Jeff how to do things a _hundred_ times, it'll never be as effective as actually _showing_ him what to do. This kind of training could mean the difference between a life saved and a life lost. You're stuck here in the glade until you heal anyways, it wouldn't require any physical effort from you, and you'll be a hell of a lot happier if you're working on something productive. You're **the best** choice for the job."

"Well, when you put it that way." Newt smirked. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow. No time like the present, right?"

* * *

The morning sun was just peeking cheerfully over the walls as Adrian sent Newt off to the med hut with his first fictional injury. He enjoyed the crisp, fresh air as he puffed on a cigarette, waiting patiently for his new friends to arrive. Before he could make it all the way down to the filter the trio emerged from the cover of the trees, looking a little nervous, a little excited, and reluctantly eager. Adrian smiled wolfishly at them, beckoning them to follow as he headed deeper into the woods. He lead them to a tangled thicket of several kinds of berry briars and set them to picking, explaining the basics of natural pigments and the importance of **only ever** using plants that were known to be non-toxic. Once they had a good selection, he took them back to the house and showed them how to spread out the berries in even layers on small woven racks so that they would dry evenly. With that finished, Adrian picked up a bundle of burlap and old t shirts and turned to his crew, a devilish grin on his face.

"Today, _ladies_ , we're going to learn how to create bras, **AND** what goes inside them. Is there a volunteer in the audience?"

Alec cleared his throat, standing up with his features painted by a mixture of panic, determination and humor. Adrian had him pull off his shirt and used him as a mannequin, pointing out the areas on a torso that created a female profile, and which aspects would need to be de-emphasized to make the illusion as believable as possible. He picked up a strip of soft, faded fabric that he'd cut from the bottom of one of the old shirts.

"Brandon, Stephen, on your feet. B, lose the shirt. Steph, pick up the other blue band there and copy what I'm doing on Brandon."

Moving slowly so that everyone could watch and keep up, Adrian demonstrated where and how to place the strip on the chest, how tight to make it and how to pin it in place, cutting off the excess length. He fashioned straps from thinner pieces of cloth, explaining placement and support as he went. Once started, Stephen worked with steady hands and a confidence that surprised and pleased Adrian, picking up the techniques with enviable ease. When the two models were wearing properly fitted and pinned foundations they all switched off, and before long all four were shirtless, sporting haphazard 'sports bras' and looking absolutely ridiculous. The boys dissolved into fits of laughter as they took a moment and admired each other's handiwork.

While none of them had ever sewn anything before, they all got the hang of basic needlework with very little fuss. As the morning marched on towards noon, Adrian helped them create and secure cups, add button closures, and trim excess base material to form a more streamlined feminine shape to the home made undergarments. And though it was cutting it a little close on his deadline for the day, he demonstrated how to join two cut off ovoid shapes onto a circular back to make a breast form, filling the form with a mixture of dry grain for weight and loose feathers for softness. It was just past lunch time when the four comrades stood in a ring, eyeing each other's 'breasts' with clear amusement and a touch of wonder. Adrian smiled indulgently, undoing the buttons on the back of his own garment and pulling it off.

"I know they look plain now; we'll fancy them up and put finishing touches on them another time. Peel 'em off, throw them in the bag with the rest of the material for now. Good work today, 'ladies'. _Really._ Now, I hate to cut and run, but I'm a bit behind here, so I need to kick you out. See you here, same time tomorrow, alright?"

"Absolutely." Brandon exclaimed, thoroughly caught up. " _ **I can't wait!**_ "

"Me neither." Stephen added, shyness gone and a wide elated smile splitting his face. "I'm kind of _loving_ this – I've **always** wanted to try making clothes, but the _other_ guys would laugh whenever I mentioned it, so I never got the chance."

"I'm in, too." Alec affirmed, pulling his shirt over his head and grinning charmingly. "It's more interesting – and less _creepy_ – than I honestly thought it was going to be."

Shooing them along, Adrian chuckled to himself as he watched them walk away, joking and jostling each other as they argued amiably about who would be the hottest when they were done. His light amusement turned into a full belly laugh as he heard Stephen, shy delicate Stephen, state with full confidence that he'd be the hottest because he had the most amazing tits. Carrying that much needed lightness with him Adrian did a lightning quick clean up in the house before bolting off to the med hut. He was ready to see what Jeff had accomplished while unsupervised.

Puffing a little when he got to the building, he strode in with confidence and rapped his knuckles solidly on the wooden door of the office. He'd given Newt very simple, specific instructions that morning as to what his 'injuries' were, what to tell Jeff, and how to act. As it was the first day Adrian had kept it very simple; a broken arm from falling out of a tree. When the door opened in front of him, it took all of his effort to keep a straight, neutral expression on his face.

It looked like a small bomb filled with medical supplies had detonated in the new room. Bits and pieces of equipment and bottles of medicinal concoctions covered every available surface. Jeff had a maniacal glint in his eye, and the patient himself? From the waist up, he looked like a bad movie version of a mummy, wrapped in layer after layer of bandages, rags, even what looked like bits of twine and rope. Even his head was wrapped; all Adrian could see of a face were the clear blue of his friend's resigned and mildly irritated eyes. Biting his tongue, literally and figuratively, Adrian closed the door behind him and leaned on it for support, taking a deep breath.

 _This might take a bit more effort than I'd anticipated..._

* * *

As the week wore on, each day followed the same pattern. Adrian tutored his 'girls' in the mornings, teaching them step-by-step how to transform themselves into something completely different.

At the house they completed their bras, finishing the raw edges and even trimming them with a surprisingly realistic lace look-a-like, made from carefully folded and snipped material. Adrian spent one whole morning explaining and demonstrating the different techniques and methods used for making a variety of clothing dyes from roots, berries, flowers and even tree bark. Together, they dyed all of the remaining fabric – and their new bras – in various shades of reds, purples, greens and blacks. The boys were delighted, eagerly devouring each new bit of knowledge that was offered to them. He taught them how to make clothes that created a feminine figure, how to mix clean rendered tallow with crushed dried berries, charcoal and various natural minerals to create very effective cosmetics, and was just starting to show them how to pull it all together.

Meanwhile, the afternoons he spent with Jeff and Newt in the med hut, patiently guiding the fledgling medic towards confidence and competence.

Everyday after lunch he rushed over to the med hut to rescue poor Newt from Jeff's overbearing attempts at 'healing'. With the long suffering Newt dutifully playing along, Jeff learned how to properly immobilize and splint broken limbs, treat head wounds and concussions, wrap ribs, check for internal injuries and diagnose common illnesses. They worked on wht questions to ask, when to bring in a second pair of hands, how to recognize allergic reactions, and the importance of prioritizing injuries.

Every night Adrian dropped into his bed, exhausted from the frantic pace. And every night Newt curled up on the couch and wondered what his friend was doing that left him so fagged at the end of the day. After a full week of staying at Adrian's place, Newt was healed enough to start lightly jogging in the evenings and was preparing to head back into the maze, and he still didn't know what the man was really working on. Any efforts to pump Adrian for information ended with vague, ambiguous answers that completely failed to satisfy his curiosity.

 _Tomorrow_ , Newt promised himself as he drifted off. _Tomorrow, I'll find a way to get it out of him._

* * *

The moon was only slightly more than half full, casting eerie shafts of watery translucent light through the thick branches of the trees. Perspiration ran down Newt's face and into his eyes, blurring his vision, but still he ran. It slicked his back, a frigid finger tracing down his spine, but still he ran. Dodging trees, leaping downed logs, bursting through undergrowth, he ran desperately, blindly, as if his life depended on it. The voices behind him grew faint, and a small spark of hope fired in his heart. Just a little longer, just a little further, and he might loose them, get away. He burst into a small meadow, streaking across it to the cover of the trees on the other side. _Just a little further._

A hard, warm body rammed him from the side, sending him sprawling. Before he could scramble to his feet, he found himself face down in the moss, a knee pressed painfully to his spine to keep him down, his wrists gripped tightly in large, calloused hands. He bucked and squirmed, fighting not to scream, fighting to escape. It was no use; his captor was too strong to break away from, to heavy to dislodge. A nasty, phlegmy laugh sounded from above him.

"Over here! **_I've got him!"_**

The sweat froze on Newt's skin and he shivered violently, mind blank with terror at what he knew was to come. He chanted mentally, pleading desperately.

 _Not again. Not again. Not again._

Footfalls sounded on the soft ground and Newt found himself roughly pulled to his feet, his hands being tied with course twine. He drew a deep breath and tried to focus on the gruesomely smiling face of the ringleader of the gang, barely a foot in front of him, the rest of his group falling into a rough circle around them. He was surrounded.

"Can't outrun us forever, sweetheart." Wes smirked greasily. "It'd be so much _easier_ on everyone if you'd just cooperate. Hell," He ran a hand up Newt's thin, trembling torso. "You could even _**enjoy it.**_ "

Newt swallowed audibly, trying to find his voice through the terror. When he did, it was a weak, petrified squeak, but it was audible.

" _Why?_ Why do you want _me?_ You **KNOW** there's others here who'd be more than willing to...with you guys. Why is it _always_ me? What did **I** do to you to make you..."

Wes gripped Newt's chin in his left hand, idly rolling something between the thumb and forefinger of his right. Ignoring Newt's disgusted flinch, he leaned in close, nose to nose with the blonde, almost whispering now.

"But we don't want the 'other guys' Newtie. We want something those shanks down stairs keep refusing to send us, something those boy-lovers aren't. _We want a woman._ "

Wes crushed the berry he held in his right hand, reaching up and smearing the juice across Newt's lips in a sick parody of lipstick. He added a smear to each cheek, a sloppy red circle that provided the only color on Newt's chalk white face.

"And since little _Eric_ couldn't take the strain of being stuck here in the glade anymore and offed himself- " Newt's face twisted, his eyes dropped. "-that just leaves _you_ ; you make the most _convincing_ girl here. Nothing _personal_ , Newtie. Sometimes you just gotta _take one for the team_."

Wes stepped back, apparently satisfied with Newt's horrified silence. Turning to face the other boys, he pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the boy that still held Newt firmly from behind.

"Doug managed to nab the shank before he could rabbit on us, I say that gives him first shot, eh?"

The other boys voiced their approval and their leader nodded, stepping to the side and joining the ring of waiting boys. All eyes were glued to the pair in the middle, every mind was focused on their own turn with their helpless captive. A hand slid up Newt's chest from behind, sliding under the battered cotton of his shirt. Doug buried his nose in the pale flesh of Newt's neck, inhaling deeply and moaning as his hand roamed freely over the unwilling boy's flesh.

"He even _smells_ like a girl."

"Funny, I don't see the resemblance myself."

The strong, placid voice shattered the night; all heads turned to try and locate the source. A lean, dark haired figure dropped nimbly to the ground from the wide branch of a pine tree on the edge of the meadow, strolling towards the group and looking as though he hadn't a care in the world. When he stepped out of the shadow of the trees, the pale moon light made his face instantly recognizable.

"Addy" Newt whispered, a sound so low he was hardly sure whether he'd spoken it aloud or purely in his head.

"Adrian." Wes nodded, pasting an oily smile on his face and trying to gauge the man's reaction. "We're just having a **_bit of fun_ **with our friend Newt, here. What're you doing out this way so late?"

Adrian shrugged easily, his face expressionless as he scanned the boys and noted every face, mentally cataloged every guilty look and awkwardly shifting body.

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to find a nice peaceful spot to just enjoy the night, look at the stars. I was just starting to relax when you guys came crashing through right below my tree. Looks like an interesting game you lot are playing out here."

After a long, tense silence, Adrian turned to look Wes straight in the eye, his face transformed by the hungry, bloodless smile he wore.

"Mind if I play too?"

A slick, delighted grin slid over Wes's face as he sized Adrian up, finally letting out an ugly snorting laugh as the boys around him whooped and whistled their approval. The cruel boy slapped a hand on Adrian's shoulder, the gesture of warm welcome in sharp contrast to the horrible situation.

"The more the merrier, my friend. You can **even** have first crack, if Doug's okay with it? A little 'welcome to the family' gift for you."

Doug nodded acceptance, not terribly thrilled with losing the privilege of first shot but unwilling to openly refuse his leader. He stepped back from the blonde, holding his tied wrists to keep him in place for Adrian but no longer groping the boy.

Newt's breath whooshed out as Adrian's words hit him like a fist to the guts; his head spun dizzily for a moment until he remembered how to breathe. Betrayal coursed through him, tears burned in his eyes like acid. _This can't be happening._ _It can't. He promised._ He was so distraught that he couldn't even appreciate when the disgusting boy behind him stopped fondling him and stepped away, it was all he could do to not vomit on his own feet and curl into a ball on the ground. _This isn't happening. Oh God, please, let me wake up. This is just a horrid dream. Please._

Adrian's voice, his tone cold enough to freeze water at ten paces, forced Newt to lift his eyes to the man still stood beside the grinning Wes.

"First crack at the kid, hey? That's **_awful_** generous of you. And I _**do**_ want to play." Adrian turned to look Wes full in the face, his grin a more horrible and chilling thing than Newt could ever remember seeing before.

"But I think I'd **_rather play with you_.**"

Quicker than whiplash, Adrian's left arm struck out and grabbed Wes firmly by the crotch of his pants. A vicious hunting knife glinted silver in the cold light as it seemingly appeared out of nowhere, arcing upwards in a flash with the blade stopping only when it was firmly pressed against Wes's jugular vein. A few drops of crimson blood started to snake down the leader's suddenly pale throat as his mouth opened and closed uselessly, like a fish gasping for air. Everyone froze in horror, shell shocked at the man's volatile, unpredictable actions. Still wearing his deadly grin, Adrian pitched his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Tonight we're going to try a **new** game, boys, with **all new rules**. And the first thing you're going to do is let go of the kid."

* * *

Author's note~

See you next time.


	32. Judge, Jury and Executioner

Author's note ~ For those of you that are a bit on the squeamish side, there is a bit of gore near the end of this chapter. I didn't go into terribly specific detail, but it is there, so be forewarned.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"Tonight we're going to play a new game, boys, with all new rules. And the first thing you're going to do is let go of the kid."_

* * *

Silence fell like a lead blanket over the boys as they tried to process the sudden turn of events. Breaths were held, and no one dared to move more than their eyes as their minds scrambled to come up with a way out of the tense, dangerous predicament they now found themselves in. Newt could hear his heartbeat thundering in his head, and a single tear slipped past his grip and slid down his pale cheek as relief and gratitude washed through him.

"Step away from him, kid, and get your ass over here." Adrian ordered calmly, his voice dripping with authority, his hands steady as rock.

Doug made no move to stop the blonde as he walked shakily over to the man, shivering a little as he came close enough to see the murderous rage that swam beneath Adrian's tightly controlled expression.

"You alright?" Adrian asked quietly.

Newt nodded, eyes huge, too much in shock to voice the words.

"Good. Turn around so I can cut you loose."

Newt pivoted and offered his bound hands to the man, close enough now to hear the pitiful wheezing gasps that puffed from the restrained bully. Adrian removed the knife from the boy's throat but retained his crushing grip on Wes's genitalia as a warning against any bright ideas, making quick work of severing the coarse twine circling Newt's wrists. As soon as he felt the cord fall away Newt stepped back, rubbing the feeling back into his hands as he surveyed the lost expressions on the silently watching boys. Two looked merely scared, the third looked openly ashamed and resigned, as though he had realized that this outcome had been inevitable, sooner or later. The fourth was turning his head left and right, scanning the trees around them, obviously working himself up into a panic. Before Newt could say anything, the frantic boy made a mad dash into the woods, instantly disappearing into the darkness. The other three shifted on their feet, clearly thinking about copying their friend's hasty escape.

"I wouldn't if I were you." Adrian said, almost casually. "It's not like there's really anywhere that you can go. You might as well stay and face the music – if I have to go hunting for you, I can promise you that things will be _so much worse_. Whoever has the rope, get it out; we're going to make sure that _no one else_ takes off so rudely before I've had my say."

One boy stepped forward; the one who's face still shone with shame. His dark skin ashy with fear, sweat pouring down his face, he followed the man's instructions and tied first Wes, then Doug and his other cohort to small sturdy trees. Each captive was completely vulnerable, kept on their feet with their arms tied to the trunk above their heads; they'd never been so afraid in their lives. Adrian tied up the last boy himself, effortlessly looping the rope and securing him to a tree of his own. When all four were suitably immobilized, Adrian sheathed his knife and turned to face his friend, speaking in a firm, quiet voice.

"You need to go back to the house now, kid."

Newt finally found his words, though they came out in a hissy whisper.

" **No way Addy!** I'm not _leaving_ you here with _these_ bloody shanks! What if they jump you when you let them loose? What if – "

" _Please_." Adrian said sincerely, cutting off what would surely have been an impressive example of Newt's imagination. "Do this for me. Go back to the house. Bar the door. I'll meet you back there later."

"No Addy, _please!_ I don't want them to hurt you! Let's just get out of here." Newt pleaded desperately, reaching out and gripping the man's shirt as if he could haul him back to the house by will alone.

Adrian smiled faintly, bringing a hand up to ruffle Newt's already tousled hair.

"I'll be fine. Go home, kid. _For me_."

Defeated, realizing that this was an argument he wouldn't win, Newt lowered his head and miserably acquiesced . Adrian gave his shoulder a bolstering squeeze before walking over to face the suspiciously silent boys. Keeping the fire inside him firmly in check, he spread his hands wide in a mildly mocking gesture and addressed the villains, hearing the sound of Newt's footsteps rapidly fading into the distance.

"Well well well, boys. It's _always_ nice to have a captive audience. I believe it's time for us to have a nice little _chat._ "

* * *

Newt didn't know how he managed to find the house in the dark; the trees and underbrush passed by in blurred smears of black and grey and green as he stumbled over the uneven ground, tripped over every exposed root and reaching bramble. When he found himself in front of the familiar door, he heard his breath whooshing out in fast, almost hysterical squeaks. He wrenched the door open, slamming it shut and forcing the bar across it with trembling hands. Slumping bonelessly to the floor, he sat with his back against the heavy wood and put his head between his knees, desperately sucking in air and trying to calm himself as his body quaked with a sick mixture of terror and relief. Nausea churned stickily in his stomach as he fought an ugly little battle with himself.

He shouldn't have left Adrian there, alone, outnumbered. _He was only doing what he was told, Adrian knew what he was doing._ How could he have walked away? Why didn't he fight harder, push to stay, or to have Adrian come back too? _It was safe here, he was safe here, locked up tight behind sturdy, reassuring walls._ He'd go back, now, right now, and make sure that Adrian was alright. _He couldn't bear the thought of facing the cruelty and violence of the other boys, just couldn't bear it_.

Exhausted from the ordeal, Newt's fatigue eventually overcame his shock and fear, and he calmed enough to push himself to his feet. Staggering in the darkness, he felt his way over to the table, running his hand over the rough surface until he came across a book of matches. He sparked one to life, unsteadily lighting a candle and filling the room with a soft, soothing glow. Emotionally torn up, indecisive, drained, he bypassed the couch and dropped on the bed instead, forlornly looking for any shred of comfort he could find. He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle of the mattress, pulling the blanket up and over himself, burying his head, breathing in the reassuring scent. Feeling useless, despairing of his cowardice, he curled into a tight ball. Alone, he let the tears that had been threatening all night fall freely, sobbing silently as potential outcomes from the confrontation played in horribly clear detail in his mind. Sliding an arm up under the pillow, he felt his skin brush against a small metal object.

Grabbing the music player he briskly stuffed the little buds in his ears, pressing buttons at random until he found the one that turned the machine on. Music filled his head instantly.

 ** _He wears his heart  
safety pinned to his backpack  
His backpack is all that he knows _**

**_Shot down by strangers  
whose glances can cripple  
the heart and devour the soul_**

 ** _All alone he turns to stone  
while holding his breath half to death  
Terrified of whats inside  
to save his life he crawls  
like a worm from a bird  
crawls like a worm from a bird_**

 ** _Out of his mind away  
pushes him whispering  
must have been out of his mind  
mid-day delusions of pushing this out of his head  
maybe out of his mind_**

Sick, ashamed of himself, afraid for Adrian, Newt cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Adrian watched the bound boys with a distinctly predatory gleam in his eyes. Every inch of him screamed for violent retribution, and he held on to his composure by the very tips of his fingers. He stood directly in front of Wes, looking the greasy creep right in the eye as he struggled to dig out the patience he needed. Wes's face was rapidly losing the pallor of shock, and angry red flush worked its way up his neck as he sneered at the man.

"Let's not mince words here. Who of you had a go at the kid the other day?"

Wes smirked maliciously, sealing his lips tight and refusing to answer. Adrian waited, more than willing to match his tenacity against the boy's attempt at resistance.

"I've got _**all night**_ to get an answer. The longer you screw around, the more you irritate me. It may be in your best interest to cooperate."

He heard a shifting off to his right; someone shuffling their feet as they contemplated the man's word. Wes remained silent, but after another long tense moment, one of the others spoke out.

"We _all_ did, okay? We all got a turn with him."

Adrian turned, noting that it was the dark skinned boy who'd offered that information. Moving over to him, he tried to ignore the little spurt of satisfaction when the boy shrank away from him in fear.

"Name."

"Ric. I'm Ric."

"Okay Ric. And what _**exactly**_ did you do when it was 'you're turn' with the kid?"

"Used him to...get off." Ric mumbled, hanging his head, his words oozing embarrassment.

"How long have you been doing this?" Adrian asked coldly. "How often to you get together?"

"A couple times a month, we... _borrow_ someone...and..."

"So, just to make sure I have this _perfectly clear_." Adrian stated, his tone Arctic cold. "Two or three times a month you cockroaches get hold of someone, bring him out to the privacy of the bush, and **rape the snot out of him**. Just to break up the _monotony_ of getting _yourself_ off. Does that sound right?"

"We never raped him! We **never** raped **anyone**!" Ric cried out in shock, struggling against his bonds. Doug and the other boy shouted denials as well, while Wes remained smugly silent, trying to look bored with the whole situation.

"Rubbing up against someone to get off is one thing, I'd **NEVER** actually...actually put _my_..." Ric shuddered, fear and revulsion clear on his face. The other two showed similar expressions, voicing their disgust at the idea. Adrian stepped away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he reevaluated the circumstances. A lifetime of seeking knowledge had left him with a very well developed and sensitive intuition; he knew the truth when he heard it. Keeping his back to them, he followed the gut feeling that was growing stronger and stronger.

"Why do you use Newt?"

"We used to use this _other_ kid, Eric, but he just couldn't hack it here, couldn't take being trapped by the maze. Out of the blue, he just... _killed himself_...six or eight months ago."

"Out of the blue, sure." Adrian murmured, turning and wandering back to the leader of the group.

"Care to enlighten me as to your role in this little farce?" Adrian asked drily, arching a brow at the still defiant leader. Wes snorted, fear gone, apparently unable to resist a chance to twist the metaphorical knife.

"Eric was a nice tight piece of ass. Knew when to _shut up_ , didn't put up a _fuss._ Just did what he was _told_ like a good boy. You can't blame **me** if the little bastard went postal and hung himself. Him and Newt were close, so _naturally_ pretty little Newtie is the one to take his place. He wasn't _bad_ , but he definitely lacks enthusiasm. Maybe he'll put more into it for you, now that I've _warmed him up_ for ya."

Fitting the known pieces into place things instantly became crystal clear. He smiled with what the others might have mistaken for cheer and spoke, sarcasm blending into matter of fact surety that left everyone speechless.

" **Thank you** for being _**so**_ helpful. It's **helpful** to know that there's only **ONE** rapist among you. And that his acts **drove** someone else to _suicide_. Where I come from, there's a very clear, very _permanent_ punishment for anyone who forces their body on another person." Adrian drew his knife, stabbing it into the bark above Wes's head as the others watched in open-mouth shock and horror.

He grabbed the boy's sleeve and jerked abruptly, tearing off a sizable chunk of fabric which he quickly stuffed in Wes's mouth, gagging him. The cloth smothered grumbles turned instantly to muffled shrieks as Adrian efficiently unzipped the boy's pants, plunging a hand inside and pulling the offensive member out of the opening. Without breaking eye contact, Adrian tugged the last piece of twine out of his pocket and wrapped it twice around the shaft he held, right at the pelvis wall, crossing the two loose ends and tying them viciously tight. Wes let out a sound like a whistling kettle, his face turning a sickly grey color. Still staring into those terrified eyes, Adrian reached up and tugged the blade loose from the wood, bringing it down into Wes's line of sight. The other boys gasped and babbled, scared witless at the events unfolding in front of them.

"A very _**permanent**_ punishment, indeed.

Alby was no idiot. Although he'd only been leader for a couple of months he took the position very seriously, and felt reasonably confident that there was little that happened in his glade that he didn't know about. As he did his customary last walk around before turning in, Alby did some long, hard thinking on the newest member of the glade, running his hand back and forth over the bow he always slung over his shoulder on his night rambles. Something was going on, and Adrian was smack dab in the middle of it. He intended to suss out exactly what it was.

It wasn't the creation and refining of an outhouse that had him keeping the three 'sissy boys' (as the others called them) all week. He knew the facility was finished and in use; he'd made a point of wandering by one afternoon a few days ago to check on the progress. He'd found a polished, welcoming space to attend to personal need, but there was no sign of Adrian or any of the other three.

Then there was Newt. It wasn't just a fall or a simple injury that inspired Adrian to let Newt sleep over at his place for an extended time, not when there was a perfectly good med-hut where the runner could crash while he healed. And why had Adrian refused to allow Jeff to carry on Newt's treatment? Wasn't he supposed to be training Jeff, showing him how to address different issues on his own? When he'd casually asked the med jack for an update two days after he'd had to haul his friend in, Jeff had admitted that he hadn't seen or treated Newt at all. He'd gone so far as to get a little defensive, pointing out that he was still very much learning and Adrian probably felt a more experienced hand was better, in this case.

Why the secrecy? What had happened to Newt, that Adrian didn't want Jeff seeing? Why did Newt not want to go to the med hut in the first place, when he and Adrian seemed so chummy?

No, Alby was no idiot.

Suspicions and theories aside, Alby didn't have the answers yet. But, he was determined to find them, and prepared to make the necessary decisions, take the necessary actions when he did.

Scowling as he thought, he turned the last corner of his patrol and started back towards his bed, only to have a frantically running body barrel into him. He shoved the flailing body off him, cursing as he jumped to his feet, swinging his bow around and getting ready to fire. Recognizing his attacker, he hissed out a breath.

"Shucking **slinthead!** What the **hell** was that for?"

"You have to come! **You have to come!** He's going to kill him! _OhGodOhGodOhGod_ , he's going to kill him!" The words tumbled out in a broken heaving whisper.

"Jim, for God's sake, calm down. What's going on?"

"He's got Wes, he's got Wes in the woods. He's got a knife. We were just messing around, but he's going to kill him! **You've got to come!** " The boy turned and fled back the way he'd come, crashing through the thickening underbrush and off into the night.

Alby hurried after him, hurdling logs and pushing hard until he caught up to the panicked boy.

"Who's got him, Jim? Who is it?"

" _It's Adrian!"_

Alby frowned grimly, picking up his pace even more.

Adrian was right at the heart of the trouble again.

No, Alby was no idiot.

The flickering glow of firelight became visible through the tight growth of trees, and Alby knew they were close. Muscles tight, braced for the worst, Alby pushed through a tall clump of ferns and stepped into the small circle of light just as a gut-wrenching, high pitched animalistic scream split the night. Throat tight, Alby knocked an arrow and aimed it at the man's back, his fingers quivering and ready to let fly.

"Turn around slowly, Adrian, and tell me what the shucking hell is going on here." The order was low and sharp, and Alby didn't take his eyes off the man.

Adrian did as he was bade, his expression calm and unreadable. The knife in his right hand was smeared with a dripping red, drops and spatters marred the front of his shirt. Clearly visible in his left hand was a still dripping chunk of flesh. Adrian held it up to show what it was, and Alby stumbled back a step, his dinner greasily sliding back up his throat as he saw Wes, tied to a tree, with a growing red stain blossoming on his trousers. Right where his junk should be. Adrian just stood and waited silently. Alby heard Jim throwing up loudly beside him, though it all sounded tinny and far away. He swallowed a couple of times, keeping his hands steady from sheer force of will.

"Give me **one** reason I shouldn't kill you, right here, right now, for what you've done."

"I'll give you more than one." Adrian replied, equably. "This pack of boys, by their own admission, has been hunting and molesting other gladers for as long as you've been here, forcing their bodies on others without consent. In addition, their fearless leader took things one step further. He did, in fact, commit brutal rape upon a boy currently in this glade. He is also guilty of the same crime on another boy, one who apparently decided to take his own life, rather than live with the horror being visited upon him by this repulsive creature." Adrian lifted the severed member once more, showing it to all present, before tossing it carelessly into the flames he'd started. It snapped and popped as it caught fire.

Alby was beginning to feel sick in a whole different way; he looked at each tied boy in turn in an attempt to see for himself. No one met his eyes. No one but Adrian, who waited patiently until he'd shifted his gaze back. Everything fit, and the whispers and doubts he'd felt for months suddenly took on substance. He could hear the clear conviction and bald honestly in the man's voice, but he was still the leader, and he had a job to do.

"That is a really serious accusation. What proof do you have?"

"I happened to come upon this group tonight, catching them in the middle of another of their 'conquests'. With my own eyes, with _my own ears_ , I witnessed this. Wes, here, taunted their intended with the name of their last favourite, a boy called 'Eric'. They were deciding who got to 'go first' when I stepped in, took charge of the situation, and let the victim go. Each _confirmed_ their role in this disgusting little game. As his crime is the greatest, Wes justifiably receives the harshest retribution for his acts, and it will be carried out, _**here and now**_."

Alby digested that for a minute.

"Guilty or not, it is not your place to decide his punishment." He tried to believe the words.

"It is my _right_." Adrian snarled, his composure breaking for the first time. " _ **I**_ treated his victim, seeing the ugly truth of the pain Wes inflicted upon him. _**I**_ looked into that haunted face, and swore that I'd **never** allow this to happen again." Alby's eyes darkened and he felt a deep, penetrating cold grip him as understanding rolled through him. " _ **I**_ promised _**you**_ , the first time we spoke, that I would do everything – _**everything**_ – I could to make life better here. I claim his life as _**my right**_. _I will do this_ to ensure the safety of those this monster preys on. _I will do this_ to protect every boy in this glade. _I will do this_ ," Adrian said softly, "so that you don't have to bear this burden. I will bloody **my** hands, Alby, so that you, a good man, don't have to try and live with what happens tonight."

Alby turned his head to the side, breathing slowly as he absorbed the whole atrocious situation. He looked down at Jim, still on his hands and knees, trying to spit the taste of sick out of his mouth.

"Were you part of this, Jim?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm –"

" **Were you part of this?** "

"Yes! Yes, **but** , but no one ever got **hurt!** It was just _fun and games_! _**No one got hurt!"**_

Alby aimed his arrow at Jim's head, cutting off his jabbering with a hard, angry stare. The selfish, self serving justification smothered the last spark of doubt inside him. His distress and consternation over the brutality Adrian's 'justice' hardened into brittle conviction. His words were harsh, cold, and acerbic.

"You're as guilty as the rest, and have earned whatever comes next. Adrian, I, Alby, _leader of this glade_ , give you **full permission** to enact whatever sentence you deem fit."

Jim cried and begged as Adrian stepped up behind him, tying his hands tightly behind his back. Alby looked at the man, a frigid rage on his face.

"What do you need me to do?"

While Alby kept watch, Adrian unbound the three other henchmen from their respective trees and forced them to sit in a line on the ground beside Jim, leaving their hands tied behind their back and positioning them so that the were only a dozen feet away from where Wes still sagged against his restraints. The furious leader was in charge of keeping them in place, making sure they didn't try to run.

Once they were in position Adrian stopped beside Alby for a moment, speaking quietly in his ear.

" _Strong stomach or not, you might not want to watch this_."

He walked over to Wes, standing at his side and staring deep into the eyes of his horrified audience.

"You are going to watch. Your crimes are lesser, so you will not suffer what Wes will suffer now, but **you will watch**. And you will **remember** the consequences of his actions, should you ever consider following in his footsteps. Tonight, I am _judge, jury, and executioner_. And **you will watch**."

Turning back to the condemned boy, Adrian lifted his knife and placed the tip lightly at the bottom of Wes's ribcage, putting just enough pressure on the blade to prick the skin. He looked into the sallow, twisted face of a boy who found pleasure in tearing others apart. Tears and snot formed glistening rivers down his face as Wes gibbered incoherently around the slap dash gag. Wes started to scream as Adrian increased the pressure on the knife, gauging his strength and carefully controlling the depth, drawing it downward in one long, slow, deep slice. Pulling the blade free with an awful sucking pop, Adrian stepped away so that everyone had a clear view. Screaming, screaming, screaming against the gag, Wes writhed and jerked against the rope as his intestines greasily slopped out of his body and onto the forest floor.

All four captive boys lurched forward and vomited, choking and sobbing at the gruesome sight.

Alby had fixed his eyes on the tree trunk above Wes's head once the boy had started screaming, disparaging his own reaction but not quite willing to watch the grisly spectacle. When the man moved to the side, Alby turned and locked eyes with them, holding the gaze with both righteousness and sorrow.

It takes a long time for someone to die of disembowelment. Adrian waited, biding his time while the screams grew fainter and fainter. After about ten minutes the four traumatized boys were finished being sick; they huddled in a miserable little group, whimpering occasionally. Wes's shrieks had turned into feral groans and whimpers and Adrian decided that the boy suffered enough; perhaps a little mercy was in order.

Lifting Wes's head by the hair, he placed the tip of his knife against one of his tear ducts and jabbed quickly, piercing the boy's brain and instantly ending his suffering.

Wes's debt of pain had been paid, in full.

* * *

Author's note~ The song in this chapter is **The Bird and the Worm** by **The Used**

~Ruby


	33. Milksop

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Lifting Wes's head by the hair, he placed the tip of his knife against one of his tear ducts and jabbed quickly, piercing the boy's brain and instantly ending his suffering._

 _Wes's debt of pain had been paid, in full._

* * *

The sounds of shovels breaking through hard earth grated on the ears in the sleepy peace of the night forest. The four surviving members of Wes's gang worked slowly, painfully, as they dug a grave for their compatriot. After Wes had been executed, Alby had left Adrian to watch the prisoners while himself ran back to the center of the glade, hurrying back with digging tools – and a large canvas sack – to clean up the results of the gruesome event. Adrian had decreed that as part of their punishment the four were to bury the body themselves. Alby had added his own weight to the decision, cautioning them that if anyone tried to run or avoid their duty, they'd face banishment in the morning. The sturdy, dark skinned leader and the taller pale man stood just outside the ring of light thrown by a hastily made torch, supervising the distasteful activity. The body, hastily shrouded in rough cloth, cast a hauntingly alien shadow in the dark.

As the night dragged on towards day and the grave got deeper and deeper, Alby's conscience began to override his righteous anger and thirst for vengeance. The later it got, the longer he thought about it, the more his own passive participation in the abhorrent act repulsed and unsettled him.

"I don't know if I can live with this." Alby confessed miserably, guilt wracking him. "By rights, I should banish you for what you did – and myself right along with you. What you did, what I **let** you do..."

"I know." Adrian said simply, his voice amazingly placid after the atrocities he'd committed. "You're not wrong in believing that I should pay for tonight. You can decide what to do with me in the morning; I won't fight you either way. Perhaps banishing me into the maze would be the gentlest – and most merciful – penalty you could choose for me." He mused.

" _It's not a_ _ **joke!**_ " Alby snapped as the toxic stew of conflicting emotions boiled inside him, stretching him to the limit of his control. "Banishment is a _death sentence_. Surely you've heard of Grievers by now? Anyone exiled outside those walls at night faces an e _xcruciating death_ by those _hideous beasts_. Maybe I should **let them have you!** "

Adrian laughed mirthlessly, sparking a cigarette to life. The orange glow of the ember flickering across his face made him look almost demonic in the deep blackness of the woods.

"Sorry, do you think that scares me? _Should it?_ What do you think waits for _me_ when I leave here?" Adrian said grimly, exhaling smoke with a deep, heavy sigh. "Five course meals and a spa day? D'you think that they'll call me back, we'll have a nice chat, then they'll _send me home to my family?_ **Of course not**." He snorted, shaking his head. "Whatever you decide, I've already received my death sentence, Alby; I got it the day they sent me up here. Anything you do to me, _anything_ the Grievers could, even what I did to that evil little pissant tonight, they're barely paper-cuts compared to what's in store for me when your _'creators'_ get their hands on me again."

"You're full of _klunk_. What would be the point? There's _no way_ one person could take that much pain."

"You'd be surprised," Adrian admonished darkly, puffing on his smoke. "There's an _infinite_ array of tech out there, and one whole branch of it is designed _specifically_ to keep people alive through the most unspeakable, heinous, soul crushing pain you can imagine. Hearts, lungs, important internal organs, they give up and go in to shock, shutting down for good after a person's hit their individual pain threshold. With access to the wonders of technology, a determined individual can keep their victim alive far, far past the point when their bodies would have given in and failed. If I'm _lucky,_ I'll find a way to die before they get me back. If not...I can look forward to days, weeks, or even _months_ of excruciating, all consuming pain before they eventually let me die. I had a small, _ **small**_ taste of it before I came up. You'll _forgive_ me if the thought of a quicker, easier death actually sounds **appealing** to me."

"Is that why you – did what you did to We– to **him** tonight? So that I'd _banish_ you and _get it over with_?"

" **No.** " Adrian said firmly. "There is actually a purpose, a reason behind why I chose that particular form of punishment for him. I _could_ have slit his throat, or tied a noose and hanged him." Adrian explained with a kind of detached patience. "I _could_ have let you shoot him with your bow. I _could_ have said 'go ahead and banish him'. **But**. None of those kind, gentle by comparison deaths address the seriousness of his crimes; for the _immense sufferin_ g he caused, for the lingering _trauma_ that his victim will have to live with, all his life, for the life of another boy driven to _kill himself_ instead of facing the sexual abuse of someone he should have been able to rely on, he **earned** the pain I gave him. True justice dictates the punishment be _**equal**_ to the crime; believe it or not, what I chose to do was actually the quickest – and possibly most merciful – of the various forms of redress I considered. And the most fitting, for a gutless coward like him."

Alby shuddered, bringing his arms up and pressing the heels of his hands to his aching eyes.

"I can't **believe** I gave you permission to take over. I've never felt such _rage_ , such a desire to make someone _suffer_ like that before. I was drowning in it. I don't know what the shuck I was thinking. But I'm the leader. _**I'm the leader.**_ Even if he deserved death, even if I admit he **deserved** to suffer, I shouldn't have let you take over. It's my _responsibility_. It's **my job** to keep the peace, to maintain order, and punish any guilty parties. I should have..."

" _What?_ " Adrian asked, courteously. "You should have _what?_ Done something so utterly against your nature that **you'd** suffer, _for the rest of your life,_ just **because** you're _the leader?_ There are many, many different kinds of people, Alby; those who will begrudgingly and uncomfortably cause pain only if and when completely unavoidable, and those who will wade in and righteously get their hands dirty to _spare_ another the task. There are people who **can** live with the consequences of inflicting violence on others, and others who would _drown_ in guilt. If our positions had been reversed tonight, if it was _**your**_ hand on the knife, you wouldn't survive it. Because of who you are, you just _wouldn't_. **I can**. I _will_. It won't eat at me the way it would you."

"One of these days," Alby said levelly, "We're going to sit down, and you're going to have to tell me your history.."

"One of these days," Adrian agreed grudgingly, after a moment of thought, "And with enough alcohol, it might be a _relief_ to do just that."

They fell silent again, watching the four figures working. The body was in the ground, the hole almost filled.

" _What am I going to tell the others?_ " Alby whispered.

"The truth." Adrian replied flatly. "Or _rather_ , a mildly edited version of the truth. Wes committed the ultimate crime; he harmed, even killed another glader. He paid the ultimate price. You make it clear that this kind of thing is _unforgivable_ , and a horrible end awaits any who would choose to act as he did. The boys will gossip, speculate, come to their own conclusions. After a while, they'll make up their own ghastly version of what happened, and it'll get so well circulated that in the end they'll believe it as fact. And no one will ever consider forcing someone again, out of utter fear of the consequences."

"What about _these_ shanks? They'll spread the real story like fire in kindling; I doubt it'll even take a _full day_ for everyone to know exactly what you did. And once they **do** , they'll scream for your banishment. I _guarantee_ it."

"Oh, I _doubt_ that very much." Adrian stated confidently, turning away and easily snapping a long thin branch from tree he'd been leaning against. Handing the stick to Alby, he waited until the last shovel full of dirt was firmly packed in place.

"It's been a long night, boys. We're **all** tired, and I think we can agree that we're all ready for this nightmare to be over. I need to address two more quick things, then you can go your separate ways."

The four reprehended boys waited numbly to be told their fate, none really knowing what to expecting.

"First, you will speak of this night to **no one**. Not your _friends_ , not the _guys you work with_ , **not even each other**. You _**never**_ talk about tonight, and the events that transpired here. If _anyon_ e asks you, you tell them you don't know, and don't _want_ to know. If I hear so much as a _whisper,_ get the faintest inkling that you've been nattering about this, you best _hope_ that Alby here has time to lock your idiot asses outside those walls before I find you. _**Do you understand?**_ "

They all nodded rapidly, frantically, gratefully. They were ready to accept _any_ conditions, do _anything_ asked of them to avoid facing a repeat of Wes's gory demise.

"Good." Adrian said curtly. "Then we're almost done here. _One last little thing_ ; you've inflicted pain on others, forcing yourself on those who did not want you. To make _absolutely sure_ you understand the gravity of what you've done, and to give you a taste of the damage you so readily visited upon others, you will each be beaten. This is the final piece of your restitution. You will stand and take it, you will seek _no help_ from the med hut or Jeff, dealing with the pain on your own until you're healed. And we will consider this whole ugly event _closed_ and _over_ , fully dealt with."

Each of the four hung their heads, shuddering in an odd mix of shame over their actions, trepidation at the coming pain and a crushing relief that their penance didn't involve death – or the loss of an essential body part. Adrian turned back to look at the leader, eyebrows quirked questioningly.

"Alby?"

Understanding, grateful, Alby walked over with the switch in his hand. This was something he could do. It actually made him feel more confident, more sure of his leadership to take an active part in the punishment of the guilty. Seeing the intent in the boy's eyes, Adrian moved out of the way, and listened as the switch whistled through the air.

While Adrian couldn't fault Alby's enthusiasm or technique he did feel that the leader let the boys off easy, only striking each a dozen times before moving on to the next. After all had received the same treatment, Adrian nodded to them, waving a hand in a shooing gesture.

"You're paid in full. As long as you keep your mouths shut and your hands to yourselves, I have no further business with you. Now, **g** _ **et the hell out of here**_."

Needing no further invitation the boys high tailed it away in a limping sprint, scattering like sand thrown into the wind. Adrian heaved a great gusty sigh of fatigue, giving in to his hammering headache and pressing his thumbs into his burning eyes. He felt rather than heard Alby step up behind him.

"You should go home, take a few hours down. You look like utter klunk." Alby stated, confidence once again ringing in his voice.

"I'll take the time, but I'm not ready to head back yet. I need some time to unwind first."

"Understandable."

"Do me one more favor, will you?" Adrian asked, his voice drained, continuing at Alby's affirmative shrug. "Go to my place in the morning and collect Newt? I know he'll panic if someone doesn't show up, and I flat out _don't have the energy_ to handle him right now."

"Yeah, right. Sure. _Speaking_ of Newt." Alby spat in a suddenly bitter voice. "You _knew_ , didn't you? You **HAD** to know. Why the **shuck** didn't you tell me?"

Adrian shook his head at the leader's naivety, offering a brief morose smile before turning and vanishing into the dark woods.

"It wasn't mine to tell."

* * *

The sun had barely brightened the sky with morning when Newt woke, still curled into a tight ball in Adrian's bed. Part of him, a larger part than he'd care to admit, wanted nothing more than to close his eyes again and ignore the new day. He was warm, comfortable. Safe. He could just stay here, tucked away, until Adrian came back.

 _Adrian._

Thoughts of the man and how he'd rescued him the night before flooded Newt's thoughts. He shoved the blanket off, rolling until he sat on the edge of the bed. Looking around, it was painfully obvious the man hadn't yet returned.

 _Adrian._

 _Where was Adrian?_

He gripped his head with both hands, fighting against a growing urge to panic. His chest grew tight, and his breath came in fearful little gasps. It was the pitiful, helpless sounds coming from his own mouth that finally forced him back to the present moment – and forced him to take a good, hard look at how he was handling the whole messy situation.

 _Not well_ , he concluded. _Not well at all_.

Steeling himself, he straightened out of his hunch, balling his hands into fists on his thighs to stop them from trembling. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, bullying it back to a more normal rate. Once he was reasonably calm, he put a conscientious effort into examining his actions during, and reactions to the events of last twelve hours. With the quiet time, he was able to see himself with distressing clarity.

He was appalled by exactly how weak, how helpless he'd been.

Worse, far worse, he realized that he'd chosen to be weak and helpless. Instead of standing and fighting, he'd run, scrambled off like an obedient child sent to bed early. True, he'd fled out of fear and shock, so blind with the combination that he was lucky he didn't end up wandering in circles, lost in the woods until morning. He could forgive himself for instinctively running away, fleeing to safety. He could even forgive himself for having a mini breakdown when he got back to the house, when the understanding that he was _saf_ e completely overwhelmed him.

But staying here, nestling into the bed and hiding from the world, leaving his friend in the company of those...beasts? That was cowardice. Sniveling under the covers and expecting someone else to deal with his demons? That was selfish. And refusing to go back out there, to stand with Adrian, to have his friend's back? That made him unreliable, a rotten cherry on top of his own shameful little cake.

He'd been a whining, quivering coward. A wilting flower, begging for a hero. A spineless _milksop_.

And that was unforgivable.

 _Never again_. Newt told himself firmly, hardening his resolve. _Never again will I run off like a gormless shank while someone fights my battles for me. Never again will I let a case of the collywobbles stop me from standing with my friends. And I will never,_ _ **NEVER**_ _leave a friend behind again._

Intent on living up to his resolutions, he shoved his feet into his shoes and had just stood up when a no-nonsense rap-rap-rap sounded at the door. Without thinking Newt quickly strode over and removed the bar, yanking the door open, determined to show Adrian a new, stronger Newt.

"Add – _Alby_." Newt amended, surprised, looking around his friend for the man. "What are you doing here? Where's Adrian?"

Alby grunted and shrugged, stepping past Newt and into the house.

"Shuck if I know. He...how did he phrase it... _needed some time to unwind_. He asked me to come get you. How're you doing?"

 _Perfect,_ Newt thought, filled with loathing for himself. _I'm such a thumb-sucking sissy that someone has to come check up on me. A little kid, needing a babysitter. Not anymore._

"I'm fine, just _bloody_ peachy. Why wouldn't I be?"

Alby watched him, an unfathomable expression on his face.

"Jim came to me in a panic last night." Alby said conversationally, intentionally ignoring the way Newt tensed up at the name. "He dragged me off into the woods, gibbering nonsense about how Adrian had taken Wes and his crew hostage, how he was going to kill them. When we got to them, Adrian had things _well in hand_. And _everything_ came out. **All** the _dirty little details_." Alby let him absorb that for a minute.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you **what?** " Newt said angrily, instantly defensive, his face flushed with temper. "That they liked to get handsy? That I _apparently_ look so much like a bloody _girl_ that they made me their favorite? That I'm so _weak_ , so _helpless_ that I couldn't fend them off? What shucking **good** would that have done?!"

"They've been dealt with." Alby said brusquely, cutting off Newt's tirade. "They've been punished for what they've done. And you can bet your _ass_ they won't be playing their sick little games with you, or anyone else, ever again. "

"What did you do?" Newt demanded, shocked. "You and Adrian, _what did you do?_ "

"What needed to be done." Alby asserted firmly, starting to really believe it himself. "Now, better get your ass to breakfast. I want all hands on deck this morning."

Newt nodded, both curious and concerned by the order. Alby paused in the doorway before he left, his back to his old friend. His voice was wounded, and tinged with an unexpected sadness.

"You should have told me, Newt. _You should have trusted me_."

He walked away without looking back.

* * *

There was a frisson of nerves in the air as breakfast wound down; the gladers weren't used to morning meetings. Even the runners had been asked to wait, delaying the start of their daily run. Speculations ran high, and everyone was gossiping with their neighbors about what the hot topic could be. Silence fell instantly when Alby stood at the front of the group, and he began without preamble.

"Yesterday it came to my attention that one among us had broken our cardinal rule. **Never harm another glader**. Wes of the slicers, when faced with no way out, confessed to the habitual **rape** of one of our lost boys. His victim, Eric, _killed_ himself rather than face the misery being forced on him. Afterwards, Wes continued his sadistic little hobby, choosing and using _others_ in Eric's place."

You could have heard a fly pass, the gladers were so quiet. Alby's voice shook with vexation as he spoke, keeping all attention breathlessly focused on him. Scanning the crowd he caught sight of Newt sitting with his other runner friends. His gaze hardened, and he nodded once, keeping his eyes locked on Newt's.

"Judgment was passed, and Wes paid dearly for his crimes. Last night, he faced a screaming, brutal, fitting **death**."

Most of the boys gasped, shocked at the announcement, but Alby wasn't through.

"He was a psycho, a monster, and a **threat** to everyone here. He **deserved** what he got. And let it be known, here and now." He was almost shouting, his teeth bared in disgust and an undisguised threat. "If anyone, _**ANYONE**_ is stupid enough to try and get physical with someone who's not interested, if any one of you shanks _refuses_ to take **no** for an answer, retribution will be swift – and irreversible." He used his hand to make a cutting gesture in the vicinity of his groin, and every watching face instantly drained of blood. "That is, _before_ I toss the ugly slinthead into the maze for the Grievers to chew on. So either find a willing party, or _**keep your shucking hands to yourselves!**_ That's it." Alby turned and walked away, letting the news settle in.

Stunned muttering broke out as the boys tried to digest the unnerving new proclamation, and the horrible consequences. As everyone, predictably, began to guess at how Wes had died, Doug and Ric huddled together with with their other two friends, exchanged scared and uncomfortable looks before staring down at their empty plates. Without a word they got up, one by one, scattering to their own areas for the day's work and trying not to wince from the bruises they carried.

* * *

The problem with having an eidetic memory is that it was literally impossible to forget something. At the far side of the glade, carefully concealed on a wide tree branch a dozen feet off the ground, Adrian wished for nothing so much as a way to turn his brain off. Cursing the lack of his music player, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, muttering poetry under his breath in an attempt to drown everything else out. Mindlessly going through the entire works of his favorite poet, one passage stood out enough to break his concentration.

 ** _By the grey woods,—by the swamp_**

 ** _Where the toad and the newt encamp,—_**

 ** _By the dismal tarns and pools_**

 ** _Where dwell the Ghouls,—_**

 ** _By each spot the most unholy—_**

 ** _In each nook most melancholy,—_**

 ** _There the traveller meets, aghast,_**

 ** _Sheeted Memories of the Past—_**

 ** _Shrouded forms that start and sigh_**

 ** _As they pass the wanderer by—_**

 ** _White-robed forms of friends long given,_**

 ** _In agony –_ **

Unable to finish it, tired to the bone, Adrian dropped the poem mid line. Struggling not to sink into depression, he ignored the angry grumbling of his stomach and blanked his mind as best he could. He focused on the softly muted sounds of the forest around him, trying to muffle the memories that insisted on swimming in his head and praying desolately for some semblance of peace.

* * *

Author's note~ The poem featured in this chapter is **Dream-Land** , by none other than **Edgar Allen Poe**.

See you next chapter.


	34. Sorry, Jeff

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy

* * *

 _He focused on the softly muted sounds of the forest around him, trying to muffle the memories that insisted on swimming in his head and praying desolately for some semblance of peace._

* * *

The mood in the glade after breakfast was understandably tense as the boys tried to process Alby's unnerving proclamation. Most were so rattled that when the new arrival siren screamed through the tense air they jumped at the sound; their leader's revelation was so shocking that it took them a second to remember that it was 'greenie day'. As a result the gladers arrived at the box in fits and spurts, eventually gathering in a disorganized group as they came back to their senses. Alby and Newt stood side-by-side in front of the metal doors, silent, neither looking at the other. As the screeching metal lift ground to a halt each took a door and heaved it open automatically, working with effortless synergy regardless of their conflicts. A pale boy with dark hair was on his hands and knees, and appeared to be doing his level best to heave up a lung. Standing back and studying the retching boy, Newt spoke with forced ease.

"We'd better rustle up some mouthwash – poor shank's gonna need it."

"Yeah, well, he won't have a weak stomach for long. We'll toughen him up in no time." Alby replied, in the same affected tone. "I guess it's my turn to haul the greenie out, hey?"

"Absolutely." Newt agreed, relieved that he wouldn't have to navigate the drop into the box. He was well on his way to being healed, but figured it best not to borrow trouble. "Ta, Alby."

Alby grunted, jumping to the grated bottom with a careless grace. He held a cautious hand out to where the boy now crouched, coughing and spitting as he tried to get his breath back.

"Hey. Hey there greenbean. Take it easy now."

"Where am I?"

The new arrival's voice came out in a raspy croak, trembling a little in fear, but steadily rising in pitch and volume.

"Where am I? Who the **hell** are you? What happened to me? What...why can't I _remember?_ My name... _I can't remember my name_ _ **. WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER MY NAME?!"**_

"You're name'll come back in a day or two." Alby placated, eyeing the boy and sincerely hoping he would pass out before he could go nuclear. "It's all they let us keep. Everything you're feeling right now is completely _normal_ ; we all went through it. You're in the glade now, greenie. You're one of us, now."

Pale as flour, the new boy stared uncomprehending at Alby for a full second before his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled into a heap, out cold. Sighing, Alby called up to the waiting boys.

"Gally, Hank! Get down here and give me a hand. We've got another _fainter_ on our hands."

Jeering laughter and good-natured insults echoed as the two muscular builders hopped down to collect the newest glader. Newt cracked a small smile as he sighed a little, shaking his head. Alby caught a glimpse of the sardonic expression as he climbed out of the box, flashing his own amused smirk back at his friend involuntarily before he could catch himself. Newt's own entertainment faded as he watched the old familiar grin slide off of Alby's face, leaving a studied blankness in its place and a lump in Newt's throat. While the greenie was hoisted limply to the surface, Newt swallowed his pride and made a painful decision.

"Once our new shank's settled, can I borrow you for a bit Alby? There's a couple of things we need to discuss."

Looking at him, hearing the intent – and the underlying discomfort – in his voice, Alby nodded sharply, accepting the peace offering.

"Of course you can, you slinthead." Alby returned with exasperation, a hint of their old comfortable friendship creeping into his voice. "I've always got time for you."

* * *

Slipping away from the dispersing pack of boys, Jeff fetched Adrian's book from the med hut and sat outside in the watery sunlight, studying the delicate sketches and looping handwriting intently. Being 'new greenie day', it was unlikely that he'd be practicing on his medical dummy (ie, Newt) today, so he planned to take the opportunity to cram. Working on an actual person may be vastly helpful on one hand, but on the other he was falling behind in his herbal studies, the importance of which Adrian had firmly drilled into his head. Flipping pages, trying to browbeat his brain into absorbing the fine details and minute differences between medicinal plants, he studied fiercely until mid afternoon.

With the sun high above him, he started testing himself by closing the book and trying to recite the distinguishing features, preparations and applications of various plants, checking the book afterwards to see how accurate his memory was. After nailing a dozen such tests in a row, his confidence was high, and he was ready move on to the next part. Grabbing a satchel from the hut and carefully nestling the precious book inside, he brought a picture of the plant he sought to the front of his mind and set off into the forest.

An hour later his confidence was gone, and his frustration grew with every step. He was almost at the far wall, and the end of the forest, and had yet to catch a glimpse of his quarry. He'd almost believe that it didn't grow here at all, if Adrian hadn't stressed the fact that he was only recording plants that he'd actually _**SEEN**_ living here. On his way to giving up, Jeff plodded along stubbornly, glaring at the greenery all around him.

 _I know it's here. It_ _ **HAS**_ _to be here somewhere. Think, Jeff, think. Use your shucking eyes. Long ovoid medium green leaves, ribbed, comes to a slightly elongated point at the tip. Foot and a half tall, at best. Cluster of strawberry red bean like berries on a single central stem. Where the hell -_

"Ginseng! **Awww yeah!** Lookit that! Who'da med-jack? **I'm** da **med-jack!** _Ah ha ha ha!_ " Jeff cackled as he finally spotted what he was looking for, the plants slightly trampled but still recognizable, growing around the base of tree whose limbs ended a scant twenty feet or so from the ivy covered wall. A bounce in his step, Jeff hurried over to dig up the root of the plant, kneeling down and forcing his fingers into the tough earth.

He managed to extract half a dozen good size roots, shaking the dirt off of them and holding them high to admire them in the patchy sunlight filtering through the leaves. And, looking up, saw the tread of a boot, dangling from a tree limb high above his head.

Baffled as to who it could be, mildly embarrassed to realize that there'd been an audience to his outburst, he called upwards hesitantly.

"H-hey. Didn't see you there."

The man sighed heavily, frustrated at the intrusion but resigned to the inevitability of it.

"Hey Jeff."

" _Adrian!"_ Jeff exclaimed, his embarrassment fading as he recognized the voice of his tutor. "You _startled_ me!"

"Good job hunting down and identifying the Ginseng."

"Thanks. I've been studying the book, and wanted to see if I could put some of it into practice. I was going to look for you when I got back, maybe see if you wanted to work on herbals for a while. What the shuck are you doing anyway, all the way up there?"

"Well, I **was** dancing the _cha-cha,_ " Adrian replied sarcastically, "before you came bursting through the bush like a wild boar."

Jeff rolled his eyes, getting to his feet so he could better look at the man without craning his neck. He was slumped against the trunk, arms crossed, eyes closed and head back.

"Well? Are you going to come down here?"

"Hadn't planned to." Adrian muttered, his sense of duty to the aspiring medic warring with his bitter desire to just be left the hell alone.

As usual, duty won, and the man crankily dismounted from his tree, falling into step beside the boy as they started back toward the med hut. Sensing Adrian's lack of enthusiasm, Jeff didn't attempt to make conversation on the way. Coming across an opening in the woodlands, Adrian's rather dispassionate appraisal of the greenery turned more intense when he spotted a distinctive tall spindly plant, with slightly prickly leaves and dandelion-like flowers. He stopped and pulled up several of the whole plants, not bothering to explain his actions to his partner. Once they got back to the building, he pulled out his pencils and retrieved his book from Jeff, quickly sketching the image of the plant onto the page. He spoke as he sketched, coloring the image delicately so that the plant bloomed to life before them on the paper.

"This is wild lettuce, also known as _opium lettuce_." Adrian explained tersely. "When processed properly, it produces a very strong painkiller. Not as effective as the narcotic found in opium poppies, but _much stronger_ than the Californian poppy I've already shown you how to use." He started writing down the distinguishing details of the plant, as well as its preparations and applications. When he was done, he filled a small pot with water and put it on the small wood stove, lighting the flame before breaking two of the plants into small pieces and adding them to the liquid. A glutinous, milky fluid oozed from the stem wherever it had been broken.

"Now, this is **really** important." Adrian said firmly, keeping an eye on the rapidly boiling concoction. " **Because** this is a powerful drug, it _should not be made readily available_." Adrian looked into Jeff's questioning eyes, drilling the point home. "Taking this preparation when you don't actually physically need it can cause a deadening of the senses, a mild euphoria, general detachment from your surroundings, and decreased brain function. If _too much_ is taken, it can result in _death_. With something like this, we **don't** take the risk of someone giving in to temptation; **safer is better.** We don't leave anything to chance, we only give it out when there's **no other choice** , and we **don't** keep it on hand. Understood?"

Jeff nodded dumbly, incredulous at the idea that anyone would intentionally take such a drug for anything other than pain.

"Good." Adrian said curtly, turning back to tend the pot. "The fresh plant can be boiled with water, like I'm doing here, to make a thick medicinal syrup. It's apparently _horribly_ bitter, but beggars can't be choosers. _Never_ give anyone more than two big spoons of the syrup at a time. You can hang those plants, root up, in the corner there until they are fully dry. Once they are, the dried leaves and stalks can be used to make a tea with similar, if slightly softened, effects. We'll keep dried plant in a jar, with a label, and in a place that any idiot wandering through couldn't find it."

He carefully transferred the thick, viscous liquid to a small jar, straining out the shriveled vegetable matter with a piece of clean gauze. He capped the jar and held it out to show Jeff; an innocuous looking fluid of a rather unpleasant shade of murky green.

"If we shouldn't keep it on hand, why did you make it now?"

"Because I wanted you to see how it's done, and the color and texture of the properly produced syrup."

"What are you going to do with it?" Jeff asked curiously, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets and leaning away a little, as though the jar were full of primed explosives and not an herbal remedy.

"I'll dump it down the outhouse at my place; it's probably the easiest and safest way to make sure it's disposed of."

Nodding his understanding and agreement, the rather serious moment was interrupted by the firmly insistent growl of the med jack's stomach. Jeff laughed sheepishly, and Adrian grinned faintly in response, glancing outside and noting distantly that it was much later in the day than he'd expected. Shutting down for the day by tactic agreement, Adrian pushed the cooling jar into his pocket and accompanied Jeff as far as the dining area, leaving his protege in the line up and seeking out Alby in the crowd.

The dark skinned leader tensed a little when the man approached him, but Adrian kept the conversation brief and to the point; asking Alby to have a few of the track hos and sloppers start digging the trench in preparation for the building of public outhouses, in a location that they two had previously decided upon. With the message relayed Adrian quickly left the area, returning home, eager for some much needed solitude. He stripped off his shirt and washed his face in his little sink, the cool water feeling blissful on his tired skin. As he used the discarded garment to dry off, his eye caught on the jar of potent liquid, waiting patiently on his little table. He walked over and picked it up, tilting it from side to side and watching the thick concoction ooze back and forth hypnotically.

 _We don't take the risk of someone giving in to temptation; safer is better._

 _We only give it out when there's no other choice._

 _It's probably the easiest and safest way to make sure it's disposed of._

 _Sorry, Jeff._

Pushing away the guilt over his little white lie, Adrian slowly spun the lid off the jar and, holding his breath, dispassionately swallowed half the contents.

* * *

Newt felt better after his long conversation with Alby. It was painful, awkward, heated. Describing it as embarrassing, unpleasant and uncomfortable would be an understatement. They'd taken turns yelling, spitting, and snarling at each other; each had been ashamed, exasperated and mortified at certain points. But, at the end of it, both had come to a better understanding as to the situation, and had discovered a little more respect for – and a deeper bond with – the other than they had shared previously. For all that the encounter had been emotionally draining, Newt had held his head high, hadn't wilted or given in, and he felt stronger now than he had for quite some time. Knowing now that Alby knew the worst of what had happened to him, he felt that he could tell his friend almost anything now. It was a heady, freeing sensation.

Sitting with Minho and the other runners at dinner, Newt found his newly acquired strength actually allowed him to tune out the worst of the gossip and speculation swirling around them, ignoring the topic where he could, offering a breezy disinterested comment when he couldn't. Sincerely grateful to be sitting with friends, he was able to put the whole wretched situation out of his head for a while and just enjoy the time spent with good chums, joking and laughing about nothing of particular importance. He'd missed these guys.

"... I keep telling him, Ben, _man_ , you **gotta** stop hanging your gaunch by my hammock! But he _never shuckin' listens_." Jack exclaimed, gesturing widely as the others sniggered at the ridiculous story, looks of anticipation on their faces. "So the other day he decided it was laundry day, and what does the shank **do?** Hangs his freakin' bits on the line, right over **my damn bed!** Again! So, when he scuttled off to have a nice little swim while his unmentionables dried, I took the liberty of moving them to a more appropriate spot – you should have seen the look on his _face!_ "

The other runners guffawed heartily, Newt right along with them. Ben looked indignant.

"They weren't anywhere near your bed! And it **wasn't** funny, you brainless slinthead!"

"Oh, I **beg** to differ." Jack crowed, face gleaming with triumph. "Everyone _else_ found it quite entertaining – watching you, _buck naked_ , climbing onto the roof of the sleeping hut to retrieve your pants – and _runnies_ – from the roof!"

Hoots and cackles of laughter drowned out Ben's red faced protests as they took turns slapping Jack on the back in approval; Ben's habit of hanging his delicates in questionable places was well known among them. As the jovial ribbing died down to sporadic bursts of chuckling, Newt happened to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he watched Adrian speak briefly with Alby and immediately take off, obviously not interested in joining the rest of the gladers for a meal. Newt squared his shoulders and looked back at his friends, purposely doing his best to put it to the back of his mind. There was no point in rushing after the man, demanding answers or making accusations. He'd already spent more than enough time pestering Adrian, behaving much like a whiny little kid chasing after his older brother and being a general nuisance. He'd see the man at some point that night anyway, when they were both back at the house, and he was determined to show him the new stronger, less childish Newt.

Musing on this, Newt briskly walked the now familiar route to the small building in the woods. He'd really lingered over dinner, savoring his food as he hadn't in too long to remember, savoring the camaraderie and care free attitudes of his friends even more. It was dusk before he got up to leave the dining area, with a full belly and a smile on his face. He scanned the trees around him as he walked, eyes alert and feet on autopilot.

Though he felt mostly secure, and quite well protected by Alby's fierce decree that morning, he none-the-less felt a tight little knot of nerves in his chest as the light became dimmer and dimmer around him. The tightness dissolved with a little sigh of relief when he reached the sturdy little dwelling, and he pushed the door open without bothering to knock, strolling in casually. The only lit candle flickered and guttered in its own wax on the table, a fresh taper laying neglectfully off to the side. Adrian was half sprawled on the couch, staring off into space with his music player plugged in.

Newt lit and anchored the fresh candle without being asked, and started two others while he was at it, and illuminating the whole place in a warm pale light. Dropping into a chair from the little table, Newt waved a hand in front of the man to catch his attention. Adrian focused on him with a little difficulty, blinking owlishly and slowly removing the bud from one ear.

"Oh, hey Newt." He intoned neutrally.

"Yeah, hey. I'm back." Newt spoke, almost lazily. "I saw you take off at dinner. Did you get anything to eat?"

There, Newt thought. That sounds more like a friend, like an equal, than a nagging kid. Adrian shook his head sluggishly.

"Not hungry."

"Suit yourself." Newt replied, considering how best to ask about the night before, without making demands or assumptions, or starting an argument. Adrian just stayed where he was, staring at Newt with an unusually blank look on his face that gave the boy a funny feeling in his gut. Newt leaned a little closer, focusing intently on the man; his face was pale and slack, and his eyes were glassy and hazed. His pupils were the size of saucers.

"What's going on, Addy?" Newt asked carefully, studying the man for any reaction. "You _feelin'_ okay?"

The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across his face.

"Not feeling much of anything right now." Adrian commented blandly.

" _Ohhhhhhh_ -kay." Newt replied, more than a little concerned now. "Want to tell me why?"

Adrian thought about that for a moment, before voicing a terribly eloquent response.

"Not really."

Uneasy with the whole situation, Newt literally bit his tongue to stop himself from insisting that the man talk to him. Reluctant to leave him alone, Newt went over and sat on the couch beside him, trying to relax at the other end of the cushions.

"Well, if it's all the same to you," Newt said gently, "I'll just sit here with you a bit. It's been a **long** bloody day."

Adrian shrugged robotically, leisurely lifting the bud and fitting it back into his ear. Steeling glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, Newt watched Adrian's eyelids droop to half mast, and his lips form silent words along with whatever song was currently playing. After an hour or more and still no change in Adrian, Newt got up and blew out all but one of the candles. The man didn't appear to notice, or care, as the boy bustled around the house, setting it to rights for the night. He was in exactly the same position Newt had left him in when the blonde eased back onto the couch, so close this time that their arms brushed. Still no reaction from Adrian. Newt tapped the back of his hand until he managed to attract enough of the man's attention to have him pulling the bud out again. Newt pointed at it.

"Ts'okay if I listen too?"

Taking a disproportionately long time to consider the request, Adrian eventually held out the earpiece, which Newt took and snugged into place, his head almost resting on Adrian's shoulder. A deep, rusty voice filled his head.

.

 _What have I become?_

 _My sweetest friend_

 _Everyone I know_

 _Goes away in the end_

 _._

 _And you could have it all_

 _My empire of dirt_

 _I will let you down_

 _I will make you hurt_

 _._

 _I wear this crown of thorns_

 _Upon my liars chair_

 _Full of broken thoughts_

 _I cannot repair_

 _._

 _Beneath the stains of time_

 _The feelings disappear_

 _You are someone else_

 _I am still right here_

 _._

 _What have I become_

 _My sweetest friend_

 _Everyone I know_

 _Goes away in the end_

 _._

Finding the song a little depressing, Newt closed his eyes and waited for it to change to something a little brighter. His brow furrowed when, after the closing bars, the beginning of the next song sounded very much like the last. After a moment it became clear; the same song was playing over again. _Odd_ , Newt thought, _I've yet to see that little magic player do this trick. Ah well, no harm, it'll switch to another one soon._

But it didn't.

It played the same song, again, and again, stuck on that one song until Newt felt he could say every word right along with the singer. When he reached out a hand to take the player, see if he could somehow figure out how to get it unstuck, Adrian moved held it off to the side and out of reach. It dawned on him that the man must be listening to this one song over and over again by choice, and the thought of it twisted his stomach into nervous knots. He turned and leaned his forehead lightly on Adrian's shoulder, trying to make contact without being pushy about it.

 _What's going on? Why is he acting like this? Why this song?_

As the repetitive music lulled him off towards sleep and Adrian made no overt moves to shift away, Newt stayed silently beside the man and tried to give him some kind of comfort by proximity alone. Ignorant as to the cause of Adrian's shut down, it was all he had to offer.

* * *

Author's note ~

The song featured in this chapter is **Johnny Cash** 's version of **Hurt**

To address a comment left by a guest;

Thank you for taking the time to review my story. I **do** appreciate feedback, and constructive criticism as, whether I agree or disagree with someone's opinion, it helps me grow as an author. I understand your view of Adrian as being a bit cliche, a bit stereotypical in the way that the gladers appear to be listening to him right off the bat. In this case, I do believe the cliche is justified; a grown man, memory intact, with a researcher's wealth of knowledge and a willingness to share the information - thrown into an area with three dozen boys with amnesia and only the skills they've patched together in the last 18 months. I feel they'd be incredibly stupid not to get as much from him as they can. Thanks for reading so far, and hope you enjoy the rest.

To everyone else, see you next chapter!

~Ruby


	35. Nurse Brutal

Author's note~ This will be the last update until January. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _As the repetitive music lulled him off towards sleep and Adrian made no overt moves to shift away, Newt stayed silently beside the man and tried to give him some kind of comfort by proximity alone. Ignorant as to the cause of Adrian's shut down, it was all he had to offer._

* * *

A pounding headache and a nasty case of cotton mouth greeted Adrian when he surfaced in the morning. Keeping his eyes tightly closed against the dim light seeping into his home he waited, giving himself the luxury of a little time to allow the haze to completely clear from his mind before he thought about his day. He didn't need to move to know he was going to have some serious kinks – one couldn't spend all night in an awkward slouched position without paying the price for it. Cautiously peeling his eyes open a slit, he looked down at the tangle of blonde hair that had taken up residence on his chest during the night.

He was being used as a teddy bear. _Again._

Newt had obviously shifted positions at some point during the night, tucking one leg up underneath him and throwing the other across Adrian's lap in a disconcertingly intimate embrace. His arm was curled around the man's waist like an anchor, and the little puffs of his sleeping breath tickled against Adrian's chest. He held on securely, as if afraid that the man would magically disappear should he loosen his grip.

 _What is it with this kid?_ Adrian thought, his irritating hangover exacerbating his mood and leaving him flat out irked to find himself caught in the same position, yet again. _Isn't there anyone else in the whole damn glade this kid can curl up with?_ Lifting a hand, he took a hold of Newt's shoulder and shook gently, trying to wake him. Newt made a small noise of protest and burrowed deeper, his grip tightening and his offending leg pressing against Adrian's delicate areas.

 _Nope. Uh-uh. Not happening. Dealing with this,_ _ **right now**_.

He shook again, harder, speaking sharply.

"Wake up kid. Up and at'em. You need to **move.** "

Newt blinked blearily, yawning hugely and bringing a fist up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"A-ddy?" He yawned, his brain still murky with sleep. "Is it morning already?"

"Amazingly perceptive." Adrian said drily, fighting to stave off the urge to snarl. "Welcome back to the world of the living. I'm ready to get up for the day... _do you mind?_ "

Newt stared at him, confused, unable to understand what the man was asking until Adrian patted the knee of his invasive leg. Eyes widening, the boy realized in a flash exactly how he was positioned. Mortified, beet red, he hurriedly extracted himself from the man's lap.

"You...you were all _cuddled up_ to me!" He exclaimed, pointing a shaking finger at where Adrian was stiffly getting to his feet. "What the **bloody hell** are you playing at?"

Newt's voice was like a fork in his ear, an extra layer of pain over the already miserable state of his head.

"If you hadn't noticed," Adrian said coolly, " **I** was in the _exact same position_ as when I finally fell asleep last night. **You're** the one who got overly friendly. Do you _snuggle_ with the _other_ guys like this?"

" **Not bloody likely!** "

Even the tips of Newt's ears had gone red in his humiliation.

"It appears to be an ongoing – and involuntary – habit of yours. You've done it before, when you slept beside me in the bed. _Probably_ moving towards the warmth instinctively." Adrian explained as he pulled on his shirt, his unflappable patience resurfacing now that he had regained some measure of personal space. "I didn't mention it before because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Not that it really matters _now_ , as you'll be back in your own bed tonight."

Newt lost all the color embarrassment brought to his face, going pale as milk at the shocking words.

"You're kicking me out?"

Adrian snorted, shaking his head.

"Kid, I invited you to stay here while you were healing. You're almost ready to run again, and _certainly_ in good enough shape to sleep in your own damn bed, instead of on my couch. We'll **bot** h probably sleep better, back in our own space."

"You **are** kicking me out."

This time Adrian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Look, you _knew_ this was only temporary. If I hadn't had so much on my mind yesterday, I would have suggested it _then_. It's _time_ , that's all. **No hard feelings**."

"Really?" Newt asked, a little afraid of the answer. "You're not telling me to go because **I.**..because **you're**... _.upset_ with me?"

Adrian laughed weakly, turning to the boy and smiling warmly.

"Don't be an **idiot.** " Adrian said fondly. "You're still welcome to visit whenever, even to _sleep on the couch_ once in a while. It's just time to get back to our regularly scheduled program."

"We're still friends?"

Adrian held out a hand, gripping the boy's hesitant one solidly.

" **Friends**. Now that _that's_ resolved, can I please go and empty my bladder?"

* * *

By lunchtime Adrian's incessant headache had eased to a more bearable level, and he was even able to eat a reasonable portion of his meal. While he knew of many herbal remedies he could have taken to ease his suffering, he figured he'd earned the pain of the hangover fair and square, and as such muscled his way through until he reached the other side. Come dinner he felt mostly human again, even mustering up the energy to keep up with the eclectic conversations breezing by while he sat with Newt and the other runners.

Minho was a bit frosty at first, but he warmed up considerably after Adrian made a comment about how relieved Newt would probably be to sleep in his own bed that night. The man mentally shook his head at the minor display of jealousy, quietly amused at the terribly teenage notion of 'stealing friends'. Now that the perceived threat had passed Minho displayed his normal cheeky sass, throwing out cocky comments that usually resulted in a fresh wave of laughter. It was an entertaining meal.

Stepping through the door to his home that night was an interesting sensation – as relieved as he was to finally have a little space to breathe, he'd grown accustomed to having the boy there, filling the space with his curiosity and conversation. He did enjoy Newt's company, and hoped that the next time the boy stopped by to entertain him it would be under less distressing circumstances.

The absolute quiet was equal parts soothing and grating. No one here to pester him, nag him, eyeball him with that strange mixture of hope and fear. No one here to occupy his time, and keep his mind from wandering to unpleasant places. No one to exasperate him. No one to joke and laugh with.

He knelt in front of the bed, fishing the jar of drugged syrup from where he'd stashed it the day before. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared into the contents of the jar, fighting an ugly little internal battle.

 _With no one here to bother me, I could finish the jar in peace._

 _I'll have to deal with the hangover tomorrow, an experience I'm_ _ **not**_ _really keen to repeat._

 _The pain tomorrow would be worth the relief tonight._

 _There's so much work still to do, and doing it in a haze is irresponsible._

 _ **God**_ _, I don't want to think._ _ **I just want to sleep.**_

 _It's a slippery path to addiction, using it like this._

 _I don't want the dreams._

 _What's one more night?_

 _ **I don't want the dreams**_ _._

He'd loosened the lid of the jar and had it pressed to his lips when another series of thoughts ran through his head.

Newt's worried face last night.

Newt bustling around the house, tidying things as best he could in an effort to help.

Newt's concern over his state of mind.

Newt's forehead, gently pressed to his shoulder in an offer of comfort.

Sighing bitterly, Adrian recapped the jar and hid it away again. Stretching out on the bed and closing his eyes, not bothering to plug in his player, he gave up and let the silence of the night take him where it would.

* * *

The next five days passed in a blur. Every night, Adrian struggled against the desire to take the wild lettuce potion, tossing and turning for hours before he would finally succumb to sleep. Every morning, Adrian woke up sweaty and panting, his heart beating a frantic tattoo in his chest, his mind full of painful images from the past. Exhausted and frustrated, but clear minded, he would get up and throw himself into the work.

Mornings he spent working with the crew assigned to the large communal outhouse, putting his back into the work and wielding a shovel or an axe, discussing basic techniques, teaching by example. The afternoons he saved for Jeff, easing his lightly guilty conscience over the drug by drilling information into the boy, doggedly going over every bit of medical lore in his vast mental library. He usually shared dinner with the runners, carefully keeping the banter with Newt light and friendly in hoped of reinforcing his 'friends' edict in the boy's mind. In the evenings after all the normal work for the day had been completed, Adrian kept company with his 'girls', working with them to polish their styles – and cement the rules firmly in their heads.

"Sound off." Adrian commanded one such evening, while everyone busily mixed different shades of lipstick. "Let me hear it again."

The boys grumbled a little, but did as they were bade.

" **One** ; There must be **full consent**. If anyone involved says no, anyone says stop, everything stops. **Period** ," Alec intoned.

" **Two** ; Do not break character for _any reason_." Brandon added mechanically, a result of repeating the line over and over again.

" **Three** ; This is a job; we're providing a service. We have no obligation to provide this service outside of the job." Stephen stated confidently, mixing his concoction with gusto.

" **Four** ; The other gladers _are not told_ who is actually behind the character. _This is for our safety._ "

" **Five** ; We address each other by our character names **only** , and only respond to same. _This is for our safety._ "

" **Six** ; Never go off alone when in character. Safety in numbers."

" **Seven** ; Never push someone to try something they are _uncomfortable_ with."

" **Eight** ; Never allow yourself to be pressured into doing something **you** are uncomfortable with."

" **Nine** ; Send 'em home with a smile on their face."

"Good. And number _ **ten?**_ "

"Give 'em the ol' _**razzle-dazzle!**_ " The boy chorused, laughing.

"That's right, girls. Absolutely right." Adrian affirmed proudly, looking around at his cheerfully grinning friends fondly. A glint of satisfaction and a resolute determination sparked in his eyes. "And with _that_...I think we're ready."

* * *

On the sixth day after Newt had moved back to his own bunk Adrian walked into the med hut to find a decidedly frazzled and certainly distracted Jeff, rushing around the office and checking their various stocks of medicine and supplies. The man stood and watched him for a moment, his head following the boy back and forth as he frantically flitted from area to area.

"Where's the fire Jeff?" He asked levelly, after the med jack had checked the same box of bandages three times. "Is there something you're not telling me? Some impending massacre?"

"It's the greenie. Clint." Jeff muttered, his voice fluctuating in pitch as his eyes scanned every nook and cranny of the med hut. "He's through his trials with the other keepers, and today he's with _me_. I'm supposed to work him, see if he's cut out to me a med jack."

"Ah." Adrian replied, understanding and mentally readjusting his plans for the afternoon. "Got it. Well, no lesson today, then. I'll just duck out, leave you to – "

" **No!** " Jeff cried, "You _can't!_ You _ **can't**_ _**leave!**_ "

"Jeff, man, _what's the problem?_ You've done this before. A dozen times or more, you've done this before. Today you're better trained, more knowledgeable than you've ever been before. What's the issue?" Adrian asked, exasperated at the sudden lack of confidence.

"I **hate** trying out the greenies!" Jeff all but wailed, tugging at his hair with both hands and a wild look in his eyes. " _How the shuck_ am I supposed to _know_ if they're cut out to be med jacks?! I got this job by _default!_ I **can't know** if some _strange guy_ is going to be any good at this!"

"Pull it together, Jeff." Adrian warned, "Calm the hell down, take a breath. When he gets here, you'll take your best shot, that's all anyone could ask. See if he has any interest in learning about the plants, the meds, the treatments. See how his nerves are, how he does under stress."

"What _stress?_ " Jeff demanded, still pulling at his hair. "There is _no stress_ during a trial! The others, _sure_ , they get to put him hands on. Dig that hole, swing that axe, clean up that carcass. Unless someone walks in _missing a limb_ , there's **no freakin' chance** for the greenie to get any sort of true trial for med jack!"

"We'll _figure it out_." Adrian soothed, switching tense from singular to plural and resigning himself to playing babysitter. "We'll find something to throw at him, test his mettle."

"You'll stay? You'll **help** me?"

" _Of course._ " Adrian sighed. "That's what I'm here for."

"Well, what do you think – "

A timid _rap-rap-rap_ of a knock sounded at the front, and an unsteady questioning voice called through the open doorway.

"H-hey? Hello? I'm Clint? I'm supposed to see someone named Jeff about med jack training? Is that right?"

As Jeff had paled to an unhealthy ashy hue, Adrian took it upon himself to answer.

" **Yeah** , you're in the right place. Come on back, let's get a look at you."

A light skinned stocky boy with a mess of brown hair walked through the building, coming to a halt in front of the pair. He glanced curiously at the nervous boy before turning his attention to the somber looking man, a serious considering kind of expression on his face as he looked the new boy up and down. Clint held out a limp hand to Adrian.

"Jeff, right? I'm the new...greenie, Clint. You're going to show me what the med jacks do?"

Adrian took the hand firmly, giving it an almost avuncular shake.

"That we are, kid. But the name's _Adrian_. This fine gentleman to my left is _Jeff._ "

Jeff's head bobbed up and down, and he audibly swallowed. Clint looked taken aback at the information, trepidation in his gaze as he looked from man to boy. Clearing his throat, he shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

"Well, uh, where do we begin?"

"Let's start you on the _basics_." Adrian said assertively, resisting the urge to elbow his utterly silent protégé. "As there's three of us here, I'll act as a dummy for you to practice on, while Jeff walks you through a few basic treatments. After that, we'll see how it goes."

" _ **Perfect**_." Jeff exclaimed, speaking for the first time, relief emanating from him. "What do you want to start with?"

"Something simple." Adrian decided, walking away and hopping up onto the exam table. "Let's say I took a fall, and have a sprained ankle. Why don't you tell Clint here how we'd typically treat it, then see if you can walk him through the procedure?"

" _Absolutely_." Jeff agreed, pulling out the thrice counted box of bandaging. He stepped over in front of the man, waving the new boy over at Adrian's encouraging nod.

"Okay greenie. First things first," As Jeff spoke, confidence beginning to flicker to life in his voice. "To treat an injury, we've got to have _access_ to the injury. Shoe comes off, sock comes off, pant leg get rolled up. Go ahead."

Following the instructions to a tee, Clint gripped Adrian's boot by the heal and toe and yanked it off roughly.

" _ **Oww!**_ " Adrian yelped realistically. " _Jesus_ , _**Nurse Brutal**_ **,** _have a heart!_ "

Clint jumped like a scared rabbit at the outburst, cringing a little as Jeff chastised him.

" _Gently!_ " Jeff barked, picking up Adrian's meaning flawlessly. "He's _already_ injured, we don't want to make it worse, or hurt him more than absolutely necessary!"

Chagrined, Clint laid his lightly trembling hands on Adrian's 'damaged' appendage, rolling up his pant leg and easing his sock off with a whisper light touch. Adrian blew out a gust of air, as though relieved to have the pressure off. Clint looked to Jeff, waiting for the next instructions, and Adrian mentally nodded his endorsement at the sudden shift in authority.

Jeff took Adrian's bare foot in his hand, demonstrating how to feel for breakage, pointed out where to look for telltale swellings, moved the foot back and forth to check range of motion and determine exactly where the pain was. Testing Jeff as much as providing a learning experience for the new kid, Adrian made 'involuntary' pained noises whenever the foot was manipulated in certain directions, taking care to repeat them at the same points when Clint copied the med jack's ministrations. Jeff tilted his head, considering as he watched the greenie.

"Okay, so we've taken a good look. There doesn't appear to be any breaks, any external damage that we can see. That means that the harm's been done to the muscles underneath. For it to have a chance to heal _properly_ , we need to support and stabilize the area while it heals."

Adrian bit the tip of his tongue to stop himself from voicing his approval out loud; Jeff was doing everything exactly right so far.

With Jeff guiding him and showing him the method, Clint effectively wrapped the foot and ankle in a uniform layer of supportive stretch bandage, restricting range of motion in the joint but not cutting off the blood flow to the foot or toes. Once the treatment was complete, Adrian verbally stepped back in.

"Sprained ankle has been successfully treated. Kudos. Now, _oh_ , I forgot to tell you," Adrian said stiffly, suddenly tucking his right arm in close to his body and supporting it with his left. "I _think_...I _may_ have busted my arm when I fell."

And so Clint watched, learned, and participated in the handling of a broken arm. Gently prying the arm away from where it was protectively curled to Adrian's chest, he helped the man remove his shirt without jostling the appendage. He took instruction well, feeling for the fictional break, learning how to apply a splint and tie a sling with ease. Once the arm was dealt with, Adrian suddenly claimed to be dizzy and woozy, having struck his head in the incident. Jeff proceeded to walk the greenie through the basic diagnostics and treatment options for a concussion. At the end of it all, ankle wrapped, arm splinted and in a sling, head swathed in bandages, Adrian couldn't be more pleased with the pair of them.

" _Well done_ , both of you. You've got good hands for this kind of work, Clint." Adrian said, acknowledging the boy with a tilt of the head before turning his attention back to Jeff. "Now that you've treated the initial physical aspect of the injury, Jeff here is going to talk to you about medicinal pain management applied **after** treatment, while I get out of all of these damn wrappings."

Despite looking nothing alike, Jeff and Clint grinned identical grins, stepping over to the neatly stacked boxes of medical supplies so that the med jack could show the greenie some of their various medicinal options for pain. It took the man nearly twenty minutes to extract himself from the miles of gauze bound around him, but eventually he managed. Still shirtless, he remained seated on the table and waited until the boys seemed to be winding down.

There was just one last thing he wanted to test them on. He slid his knife out of his belt sheath stealthily, taking a deep breath.

"Hey guys? There's just _one more thing_ I'm going to need you to treat."

As the boys turned around expectantly Adrian draw the knife across his lower abdomen in one quick jerk, leaving a six inch gash that instantly began pouring blood. Adrian had taken great care to perfectly control the pressure; the cut was no more than half an inch deep, and well away from anything vital. Absolutely not life threatening, but certainly in need of immediate care.

Even as Jeff stood frozen in shock, Clint leapt forward, slapping both hands against the wound to apply pressure and swearing enthusiastically.

" _Shucking hell!_ **Jesus!** _God damn it!_ **Why** would you **do** that?! _Jeff!_ We have to stop the bleeding!"

Jeff was staring blankly as if in a trance, horrified. Clint snarled at him, snapping him out of it.

" _ **Jeff!**_ For _shuck_ sake, get over here and _help me!_ "

Jeff was jolted into action by the harsh demand, hurrying to grab a jar of antiseptic and a clean bundle of bandages. Crimson rivulets cascaded over Clint's fingers, already staining the waist of Adrian's pants. Clint was muttering platitudes under his breath, the words too hurried and worried to be soothing.

"It's alright. _It'll be alright._ You'll be **fine.** We'll get you _fixed up_. Just a _scratch_ , you'll be **alright.** "

When Adrian's torso started to tremble under his steady hands Jeff quickly looked up, fearing the man may faint from the loss of blood.

Inconceivably, the shakes were a direct result of delighted laughter being held at bay. Eyes shining with pride and approval, Adrian got himself under control and brought a hand up to pat Clint's tense shoulder in a congratulatory fashion.

" **I'd say** you passed today trials with flying colors, Clint. _Exceptional_ , all around. _Now_ , how's your needlework?"

* * *

Adrian felt good, absolutely fantastic when he joined the dinner crowd. His girls were ready to get to work, and Clint was a healer down to the bone. With some training, he'd be an excellent med-jack, and after his magnificent performance that afternoon, Adrian fully intended to urge Jeff to claim the greenie at the next council meeting. Plopping down beside Newt, he grinned his way through the meal. His cheshire cat didn't go unnoticed, either.

"What're you so damn smug about?" Minho demanded sarcastically, "Did'ya find a _tre_ e with a _knot hole_ and name it _Betty?_ "

"Oh I found _Betty_ , alright, but she didn't want anything to do with **me.** 'Said _you'd_ already _tired her out_."

Everyone laughed uproariously at that image, Minho included, shaking his head in appreciation of the quick wit.

"Really though, Ad – _Adrian_. You look like the mouse that got the cheese. Spill, would you? We'd... _what the_ _ **bloody hell**_ _did you get into this time?_ " Newt suddenly demanded, spotting the blood on Adrian's pants where his shirt had shifted. The man spread his hands wide in a placating gesture.

"Just a scratch, that's all. _I swear._ No harm, no foul, and nothing to worry about. _Honest._ "

Newt eyed him suspiciously, sorely tempted to nag at the man until he filled in the gaps. Before he could get another word in, however, Alby wandered by the table, nodding at the occupants cordially.

"'Lo guys. How's it goin'? Mind if I steal Adrian away for a while?"

 _Saved by the leader_ , Adrian thought as he excused himself and followed after the dark skinned boy. They walked over to the far side of the area, finding a little privacy by one of the supply huts.

"What's up, Alby?"

"I just wanted to talk to you about the finishing details for the outhouse, maintenance, that kind of thing. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything important."

" _Nah,_ not at all." Adrian said with relief. "Fire away."

They stood and discussed nuts and bolts for ten or fifteen minutes, until all of Alby's current questions and concerns had been fully dealt with. The leader was just about to head off to deal with something else when the man held a hand out, detaining him.

" _Actually,_ I wanted to talk to you about something as well. D'you have time?"

"Yeah, sure. What's on your mind?" Alby asked, curiously. Adrian glanced around subtly, making sure that no one else was close enough to eavesdrop and dropping his voice to a low murmur.

"I've been working on a little... _side project,_ that I think is going to really benefit everyone here. Something that is going to _support_ the edict you made after the 'incident'; a carrot of the stick, _if you will_. And it's finally ready."

"What the **shuck** are you talking about?" Alby hissed angrily. " _What have you done?!_ "

"Nothing like what you're thinking, I swear." Adrian assured. "As a matter of fact, I _really believe_ the guys are going to be absolutely thrilled when I show them what I've managed to put together."

His instant flash of anger eased; Adrian's tone oozed sincerity. Curiosity piqued, he narrowed his eyes and tried to puzzle out exactly what the man could be up to. Adrian snickered, waving him off.

"Forget it, I'm not telling you. But I _will_ **show** you."

"Now?"

"Hell no." Adrian snorted at the thought. "Tomorrow night, just after dark. Round up half the gladers and meet me in the clearing in the woods, closest to the south wall. Don't tell them what's going on, just that there's something they need to see. And **don't** tell the rest of the guys. Yet."

" _Listen_ , shank." Alby said, irritated, "I don't know _why_ you think you can-"

"Just try to _trust me_ , okay?" Adrian asked "There's a method to my madness. You'll see, tomorrow night." Not waiting for a reply, he hurried off; with the time and place set, there were a number of last minute things to attend to. He stopped briefly at the table where 'his girls' were sitting, giving them their marching orders.

"Meet me at my place tomorrow, right before dinner. Grab a walking meal to scarf of the way, 'cause we **won't** have time for anything else."

"What's going on?" Brandon asked, though all three hoped that they already knew the answer.

"We're on. **Tomorrow night** , we get this ball rolling." Adrian confirmed.

* * *

Author's note~

 **Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa**

 **Something else, or nothing at all**

 **May the rest of this year be good to you and yours**

 **And may 2019 be a great year for all!**

See you next chapter - and next year!

~Ruby


	36. Idi Syuda

Author's note ~ This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature. Reader discretion is advised. ;)

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"What's going on?" Brandon asked, though all three hoped that they already knew the answer._

 _"We're on. Tomorrow night, we get this ball rolling." Adrian confirmed._

* * *

A fat, waxing gibbous moon rising in the clear night sky gifted the gladers with an eerily fluid light as they walked through the shadows of the forest. Sixteen clueless boys curiously followed their leader deeper and deeper into the woods at the south west corner of the glade, all but ready to burst from the mystery of it all. Little conversation was to be had as they traveled; the woods could be a tricky enough spot to wander during the full light of day, inky black shadows and a weak light source turned the terrain into a minefield, and made footing far more treacherous. Stumbling over branches, tripping on underbrush or divots in the ground, the boys could only focus as best they could on where they put their feet and hope their questions would be answered soon.

Alby strode ahead, by all appearances calm and confident as he lead them all through the woods. Firmly in control of himself and conscientiously schooling his features into an expressionless mask, he stepped into the modestly sized clearing, unsure as to what to expect. The meadow was truly unremarkable; a roughly forty by sixty foot break in the trees, the floor covered by a thick ankle high carpet of short grasses, flowers and small leafed plants. At the approximate center of the area a mostly circular section had been cleared down to the raw dirt and a small ring of stones surrounded a mound of firewood, already set and ready to light. As the others emerged from the trees behind him, he pointed at the simple fire pit and grunted.

"Get it lit. We wait here."

Settling himself back against the trunk of a tree, attempting to shrug off a growing sense of unease, he tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever the man had cooked up in that strange mind of his.

 _What the shuck is he up to this time?_

Despite a decided lack of information Alby had done exactly as the man bade; carefully and painstakingly going boy to boy and speaking one-on-one to each, until he had reached out to about half of his fellow gladers. Following Adrian's instructions Alby gave no reasons, no explanations, no information at all – he simply informed each boy that they were to meet him at the south gate at full dark, to come alone, and to keep the meet to themselves. He'd seen the confusion in their faces as they gathered, watched the uncertainty and excitement spread as more and more arrived. Once everyone was accounted for and he lead them into the woods, he could almost hear the questions being mentally shouted at his back as he walked. Only their unshakable trust in him had stilled their tongues, he was sure.

A warm yellow glow flickered weakly as the boys managed to spark the fire to life. The ones who'd started it, and the rest standing around watching, now turned to their leader as one.

"Well?" Hank, one of the builders, called expectantly. "We're here, right? What are we doing, Alby?"

"Yeah, we're well away from the glade now. Tell us what's up." Fynn coaxed.

"Why are we out here in the middle of the shuckin' night in these spooky freakin' woods?" A third asked.

"Aww, _poor baby_." Another crooned to the boy who made that comment. "Afraid of the dark? Gonna _scream_ and **klunk yourself** if a squirrel runs by?"

" **Shut up** you stupid – "

" **Slim it** , everyone." Alby snapped, cutting the growing hubbub off in an instant. "You shanks are here because I **told** you to be here. You'll find out why shortly. _What's the rush?_ Do you really have anything **better** to do right now? Try to find a little damn patience, would you? It'll be worth it."

"What are we supposed to do?" Hank asked, cowed a little by his leader's terse order.

"For now? **We wait**."

* * *

Adrian checked over his comrades briskly, adjusting the line of a garment here, smudging paint a little here, straightening their hair and securing their fastenings tightly. When everything was as close to perfect as he could make it, he walked over to the door and opened it to the night, standing with his back to the others for a long moment. For all the hours and hours of sweat and toil, the rigorous training and thorough tutoring, three measures of determination had yet to be tested – it all boiled down to tonight. He spoke without turning around.

"If anyone is having doubts, or second thoughts, if anyone wants to back out, or doesn't feel like they can do this...now's the time to say it. _No hard feelings_."

One voice rang out. Then another, and a third.

"We're right behind you. All the way."

" _Absolutely._ "

"Ready and willing!"

The man turned, a pleased and wicked smile on his painted face.

"All for one, one for all. _Let's go_."

Moving silently through the darkness, the four made short work of creeping up on the meeting spot Adrian had arranged with Alby. They moved with confidence, as the man had had the foresight to run them through the route a handful of times in the past week in preparation for the big event. Hushed voices faded into absolute silence as the orange shimmer of flames became visible through the brush. Adrian pointed definitively, sending the boys to their prearranged positions to wait. Once alone, he took a minute to assemble his thoughts – and to psych himself up for what was to come. He reached behind hims head with both hands, lifting his hood up and delicately settling it in place over his hair and face.

He was ready.

* * *

The boys were starting to get restless. The fire had started to burn down and a full hour passed, yet there was still no sign of...anything. Gladers sat in twos and threes, gossiping, gaming amongst themselves, trying to kill time until the purpose of this whole endeavor was finally revealed. Alby never moved from his spot at the edge of the meadow, trying to project an air of casual composure that was in direct opposition to his growing irritation.

 _Where the hell iss he? Is this supposed to be some kind of idiotic joke?_

As he stood and waited Fynn, keeper of the sloppers, grew fed up with the mindless hand game two of his friends were playing and walked over, obviously trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

"Any idea how much longer we'll be waiting?" He asked, irked. "It's getting late, and I need to be up at the crack of dawn with the boys to work on that project for you."

"I told you." Alby said, with a forced air of superiority. "We wait."

"Yeah, fine, well, if you want to wait here all shucking ni – "

It took Alby considerable effort to not jump as a sudden sharp scuffling sounded in the brush behind them, barely ten feet away. Conversations and games cut off as everyone looked around, trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound. The scuffling got louder, started to sound more aggressive, and began coming from multiple points around the clearing. The boys bunched up a bit, instinctively moving closer to each other as they searched for the source of the noise.

Fynn spun back to where Alby was still slouched against the tree, looking distressingly dismissive of the possible threat.

"What the _shuck_ are you playing at? _What the hell is this?!_ "

Before Alby could consider answering a low smoky laugh drifted into the air, raising goose flesh on every one who heard it. The darkly amused sound grew in volume and seemed to bounce off the surrounding trees, echoing right back to them and making the hair stand up on the back of their necks. High, childish giggles joined the laughter until it felt as though they were completely surrounded. The muscles in Alby's back were tighter than a fist as he forced himself to do nothing, just maintain his impassive posture and non-nonchalance. His head screamed for him to jump in but he fought the urge, trying to show a measure of the trust the man had requested.

"Who the shuck is out there!" Fynn demanded angrily. " **Show yourselves!** If this is some kind of _**moronic prank**_ , I swear to **God!** "

The laughter cut off abruptly, and silence held for a dozen heartbeats before the figure stepped out of the shadows. The boys were rendered utterly speechless at the sight before them.

It was a woman.

Though her face was completely shadowed by the hood of a long supple cloak, she'd flipped the edges of the material behind her as she walked towards them, putting her full figure on display. Made black and white by the bleaching shine of the moon, color crept back in to her image as she stepped into the light of the fire. The boys stood petrified, mesmerized.

It had to be a woman – no man walked like that, hips swaying, taking those graceful steps in knee high soft leather boots. Boots that rode high enough to meet the buff colored cotton of her skin tight pants, both highlighting her long shapely legs.

It had to be a woman – no man had those ripe curves, clearly accentuated by a black leather waist cincher, the long ends of the ties swaying hypnotically from the asymmetrical left side closure. The leather had a dull shine to it, and it was laced tightly over a flowing crimson shirt that left her shoulders bare, puffing out into wide sleeves that gathered back at the elbow.

It had to be a woman – no man had breasts like those, two very specific assets that rose proudly for all to see. The very sight of thin dark straps on those bare shoulders, and the hint of (Mother of God!) black lace peeking up over the rouge of her top made more than one boy present clear his throat a little uncomfortably.

Moving wordlessly through the stunned boys, the woman walked over and stood right in front of Alby, cocking a hip and remaining silent, clearly waiting for a reaction. Alby swallowed mutely a couple of times before he was reasonably sure that he'd have his voice under control.

"You're late."

The woman threw back her head and laughed her sultry laugh, shaking the shapeless hood back and swirling the cape off dramatically, smiling down at the leader. Her hair was a riot of rich dark curls and waves, picking up glints of shine thrown by the fire. Bloody red lips curved wickedly, showing a teasing hint of white teeth behind the cupid's bow. From brow to lower cheek bone, her face was covered in a thin, painstakingly hand carved mask, painted in black and made elaborate with tiny beads and sleek black feathers.

"I am apology." She said clearly in a husky, accented voice. "The moon, she is so close to full, it is too easy for to be... _distracted_."

" _ **This**_ is Adrian's surprise?" Alby muttered quietly, far too low to be heard by the others. "What in _God's name_ is **this** supposed to be?!"

"Something he must surely think that you – all of you – badly _need_." She replied at a similar volume, her flawlessly unaccented voice suddenly of a much more familiar cadence. When she stepped closer, her chest almost touching Alby's, the boy could only stare into the heavily made up eyes that flashed behind the mask. Too staggered to say it out loud, he mouthed the word.

 _Adrian?_

She leaned close to speak in his ear, her breasts brushing his chest and making him shiver involuntarily.

"Not _tonight_ , I'm not. I'd _appreciate_ if you'd remember that – for everyone's sake. A little _wilful suspension of disbelief_ tonight is going to make everyone else _very, very_ happy."

The curve of lips against his ear, the warm moist breath against his neck made him shiver again, harder than before. Even being fully aware of what - and who - lie beneath the paint and costume, Alby could feel a flicker of heat begin deep in his belly as his body reacted to the sudden stimulus. Two beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face.

Just as quickly as she'd moved in the woman pulled away, spinning easily to face the flabbergasted boys as they stood and watched, at a loss as to what to do.

"I am called, this night I am called here. The name of mine is Althea. It will be pleasure to meet you all."

The words in the thick accent were delivered immaculately, the voice she used was low pitched and undoubtedly sensual. As the others began to glance back and forth between themselves, they started untangling their tongues.

" **Who are you?** What do you want with us?" Hank called out, trying to sound confident and manly.

"I have told you this. I am named Althea." She replied, amusement lurking in her voice. "I am called here. One, who knows you, he found to call to me, tell to me that I am to be needing to come here."

"Why?"

She laughed again, gesturing at the gathered boys airily.

"It is as I am told, many many males – _boys._ " She corrected herself, looking at each in an appraising sort of way. They started to shift uneasily, not sure where this was going. "Yes, many boys, but no females. Boys are _needing_ the females, just as so females are _needing_ the boys, yes?"

There was a sudden urgent need, shared by most of the boys - a need to suddenly study the sky, the surrounding trees, or their own feet.

"That's a... _generous_ offer, Miss...Althea?" Fynn answered cautiously, gazing over her shoulder and not looking at her directly. "But, as there's only **one** of you, and like _forty_ of us, I don't see..."

She waved him off, laughing again at the embarrassed color in his face.

"No, no, you are to misunderstand. **I** am not in need of males...of boys." She grinned wickedly, the expression terribly mischievous. "Not for me." She turned and called to the woods in a high, joyful voice.

" _ **Rebenok! Rebenok, idi syuda!**_ "

As if they materialized out of the dark itself, three girls stepped into the circle of firelight. The boys gasped at the incredible apparitions in front of them.

One was tall and pale, with delicate curves and a shoulder length rain of icy blonde hair.

Another was short and lightly tanned, with luscious curves and a halo of reddish gold curls.

The third was dark as the night itself, with a modest figure and a mass of ebony hair in an explosion of tiny, tight braids.

All wore intricate brown feathered masks. All wore very tight, very brief shorts that showed off a great deal of smooth, tempting thigh and leg. All wore very smug, utterly confident female smiles.

The three girls swept into low bows, their shirts gaping and giving a glimpse of lacy bras and bare flesh beneath.

Every mouth in the meadow went dry.

" _Mother_." They said in unison, their voices clear and sweet. "We are here."

" _Rebenok_ , my daughters. These are the males we are to meet." She walked over, turning to face the boys and introducing the girls one by one.

The blonde, in a sage green top that showed off several tempting inches of bare midriff.

"My **Ashley** , bright and bold."

The brunette, pixie like in soft shades of pink, her generous bosom causing many a blush to rise.

"My **Sarah,** soft and sweet."

The dark skinned beauty, glowing in a thin white confection designed to flame the imagination.

"My **Brianne** , strong and fearless."

Each bowed again in turn, their lips stretching in feline smiles of anticipation.

"They know more to speak as you do, but they are shy, you see, with words they are shy. For now, as is said, words are not needed. They will learn from you, and you will learn from them."

"And what, _exactly_ , are we going to learn?" Alby asked faintly, almost afraid of the answer.

Althea walked over to him, stepping into his personal space and slowly trailing a finger tip from his collar bone down to the buckle of his belt, watching his eyes go glassy from the contact. Sweat began to bead on his upper lip.

"You are leader here, _**yes?**_ We will...demonstration for you."

Cupping the back of his neck with her hand, she tilted his head up and brought hers down to meet him, crushing their lips together in a hot tangle of teeth and tongue. Humming appreciatively, she slithered that glorious body up against his as she pressed him back against the tree. Abruptly and achingly hard, his arms wrapped around her back like vines, pulling her closer as she did incredible things to his mouth. He gasped for air when she broke the kiss, promptly letting out a lightly muffled groan as the friction between her body and his arousal sent delicious little tremors up and down his spine. He was unable to maintain his composure and let out a full-throated moan when she nibbled on his ear, scraped her teeth gently against the tender curve of his neck. Suddenly he felt a second pair of hands sliding between them, reaching for the clasp of his jeans. He protested weakly when she stepped back, breaking contact.

" **Ah!**... _w-wait_.. _ **.I**_..."

She just smiled that same dangerous smile, touching her pale pink tongue to her top lip in a shockingly sexual way. She kept watching him as Brianne succeeded in unsnapping his pants, running a dark hand naughtily up and under Alby's shirt, fearlessly exploring the leader's work hardened physic with both hands and mouth. Alby was panting now, his erection bulging through the gap in his jeans as Brianne continued where Althea had left off.

"She wants to learn." The woman said, matter-of-factly. "Do you wish to learn? Is this...agreeable for you? You will teach to her?"

He knew, in the back of his mind, that all of these 'girls' HAD to be gladers, boys he'd worked with, sweat with, for a year and a half. He knew that other guys had never held any kind of sexual appeal for him, though he had no particular issues with those who leaned that way. Alby knew he should say no, should say stop.

He knew he wanted this.

"Yes... **God** , _ah! **Yes!** "_

Knowing, not caring, willing tonight to believe only his eyes and his body and leave the rest for tomorrow, he hauled Brianne up and into a noisy, sloppy kiss. Her mouth wasn't as skillful as the woman's - there was a good deal of experimenting on both sides, but when her hand closed over the thin cloth still covering his member he bucked into the touch and let out a high pitched whine, too desperate for release to be embarrassed. Tugging him free from his shorts, she fisted his erection in her wide soft palm and lay wet open mouth kisses over the side of the neck as she slowly pumped him, blowing softly on the damp skin as he held on to the back of her neck, grabbing her hip in a white knuckled grip. He was actively thrusting now, groaning and panting as his hips moved faster and faster, her steadily moving hand tightly trapped between their bodies. Breathing quickly from her own excitement, she flicked her thumb lightly over the exposed head of his sex, moaning and gasping in his ear.

"Yes, _ahhhh_ , _ **yes!**_ I _need_ you, Alby... Now, **ahh** , _A-Alby_ , _**now!**_ _Ah!"_

He cried out as he came, his hips frantically jerking as he emptied himself into her hand.

Spent, exhausted, he lay pinned between her firm and appealing body and the hard support of the tree. His hand slid off her hip to lay limply at his side, and he buried his head in the curve of her shoulder as they both tried to regain their composure.

Althea nodded approvingly, turning back to the obviously aroused and eagerly waiting boys.

"This is to learn. Are others willing? To learn, and teach?"

* * *

There were none who refused the allure of the girls. While a few proved unsure or hesitant (or downright shy when it was their turn) no one straight out declined the services being offered. Before the night was even close to half over, all seventeen present gladers had been gratified in a way they'd barely dreamed of before. The girls, willing and eager and quick to learn, used the friction of their bodies and their already skillful hands to make sure every boy was taken care of. With the fire down to barely glimmering embers and the boys sitting or lounging around, all but asleep, Althea stopped to whisper a last few words in Alby's ear. Then, with a sultry laugh, she turned and disappeared into the liquid indigo shadows of the forest, followed closely by her three girls. None of the girls looked back, but every pair of eyes followed them. Every male present wondered if this was all some crazy dream, and if they would ever see the girls again.

Every one of them fervently, desperately hoped they would.

* * *

Author's note ~ The gladers are, at the time my story takes place, in the age range of 15 - 16 years old. Yes, _still minors_ , but frankly I don't think it's terribly realistic to believe that a bunch of hormonal teenagers could be trapped in close quarters for an extended length of time with NO sexual encounters at all occurring. Just sayin'. ^.~

Happy New Year everyone, and see you next chapter!

~Ruby


	37. Go Ask Alice

Author's note~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Every male present wondered if this was all some crazy dream, and if they would ever see the girls again._

 _Every one of them fervently, desperately hoped they would._

* * *

The door to Adrian's house slammed open as the group of exhilarated boys laughed and chattered their way inside, yanking the heavy wooden door enthusiastically closed behind them. The man, while pleased with how the evening had run, was considerably more composed and busied himself lighting candles to alleviate the absolute blackness filling his home. As the small flames hissed to life and filled the room with a warm cheerful glow, the boys couldn't stop gushing about the success of their charade, reliving individual moments gleefully.

"Didja see the **look** on Alby's face when 'Althea' shimmied over to him?" Brandon crowed, easing the wig off his head gently so that he wouldn't damage it. "I thought his head was going to _explode!_ Suspicion, a little fear, and a giant scoop of ' _ **oh, baby!**_ ' He had no idea what to think!"

"Of _course_ not." Alec replied with a cheeky grin, tossing his hair and reveling in the feeling of it. "Not only is she a total **BABE** , she's the first woman **anyone** can ever really remember seeing. If _you'd_ been in the bleachers and not on the stage, _your_ head would've blown too!"

"I'd rather _blow_ something else." Brandon said archly, causing all three to dissolve into bawdy laughter again.

"No doubt." Alec laughed, reaching under his shirt and loosening the ties for his waist cincher, breathing a sigh of relief when the tightness eased.

"And this padding – it's _**fantastic!**_ " Stephen added, and the other two groaned in agreement.

"Yessss, **God** , isn't it?" Alec exclaimed, laying a hand on his visibly flat pelvis, and feeling the surprise hidden there. Each wore foundation pieces sporting clever tailoring, a careful design, and some strategically placed padding on either side of their genitalia to conceal their own masculine attributes while still allowing them to feel a truly staggering amount of sensation. "When I started to grind up against Hank, I thought I was going to shucking lose it, _**right there!**_ "

" _Arrrrrrgh_ , I know!" Brandon whimpered delightedly. "I was almost done before Alby was! I don't even _know_ how many times I – "

All three took a moment, sighing in fulfillment.

"And best of all, no one, **not a one of them** , recognized us!" Alec added, grinning widely. "These masks worked perfectly!"

"I don't think it was the _masks._ " Stephen chipped in confidently, bobbing his shoulders in his own little happy dance. "Other than a quick glance, I don't think any of them bothered looking at my face all night. Who needs a _mask_ when you've got – " He wiggled his fingers by his chest and deepened his voice comically, " _ **The Mighty Power of Breasts!**_ _"_

This round of laughter was cut off by Adrian clapping his hands sharply, effectively drawing their attention to him.

"Great work tonight, ladies. Really exceptional." Adrian congratulated, his eyes and warm grin beaming with approval. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were old pros as this!"

The boys laughed, shoving each other back and forth a little before Adrian waved them into silence.

"Yes, yes, well done. Well done. Now, the fun and games are over for tonight, and we've all got work to see to tomorrow morning. Strip it off, ladies, wash it off – then go the hell to bed. Tomorrow's another day... _and another night!_ "

In far, far less time that it had taken to get prepared, all three boys were washed clean of their paint, stripped of their costumes, and back in their everyday clothes. Tamping down on his impatience, Adrian laughed with them, slapped their backs, teased them, and finally booted them out of his house. Alone, hearing their voices fade into the distance, he leaned against the closed door and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Barring the door, he stripped down to his boxers, relishing the kiss of cool damp air on his freshly washed skin. Mentally chastising himself for not making up a sleep aid during the day, he settled in bed with his music player softly singing in his ears.

 _There's a place where the garden can take you  
Through the looking glass  
Find a way with the plants - they can take you  
To your path  
Chase away all the funny pain  
Down the rabbit hole  
And another world awaits behind the little door_

 _You can go ask Alice  
Just why the hatter is mad_

 _All are welcome in Wonderland  
'Till the queen screams off with your head  
And life will always get twisted  
When you're living it through the looking glass_

Resigning himself to a restless, uncomfortable night, he closed his eyes.

* * *

Alby watched for Adrian at breakfast. While his first impulse was to snag the man as soon he spotted him in the meal line, Alby managed to squash the urge; ambushing Adrian as soon as he showed up would only cause the others to take notice and talk, and Alby didn't want to draw any more attention than was absolutely necessary. He'd acted on 'Althea's' request the night before, cautioning the others to keep the encounter to themselves before sending them to their bunks, ordering them to keep their mouths shut if they ever wanted to repeat the experience. With even the idea of another such night making him antsy, he waited until the man had finished and was leaving the area before slipping up beside him, trying to radiate a casual air he didn't actually feel.

"Hey. Got a sec?"

"Sure." Adrian replied amiably, fully expecting the request. Together, they walked out of the immediate area and into the privacy of the scattered woods. When Alby felt they were alone he stopped and faced the man, unsure as to how to begin. Adrian waited patiently.

" _ **So**_ **.** "

"So." Adrian returned, curious as to how the leader would handle the unconventional situation.

"What the shuck _happened_ last night?" Alby blurted, trying to cut straight to the point. Adrian lifted a brow.

"I got hung up." Adrian said placidly, his expression intentionally neutral. "Sorry about that. I fully _intended_ to meet you guys there, like we'd planned. Something came up."

Alby stared at the man, incredulous. Was he really trying to pass last night off in such a ridiculous way? Did he honestly think that Alby wasn't going to –

 _What?_

Alby shook his head, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Adrian was clearly leaving the tone of this conversation up to him, putting the power and direction fully in his hands. How did he want this to go?

He closed his eyes, thinking through the events of last night.

What was it the man had said?

 _A little wilful suspension of disbelief._

Thinking of the image of the 'woman', the flowing dark hair, the ripe curves, the way she touched him...he felt his body responding to the memory, stopping himself from shivering by only a hair's breadth. Opening his eyes, looking at the calmly waiting man, stoic and so clearly male, the tingle of attraction and lust melted away. It eased his tension, soothed away the awkward questions he'd spent half the night asking himself, left him reassured – and formed a clearer understanding of the unfamiliar term. Knowing that Adrian was allowing him to choose the direction this would take, he quickly made up his mind and shot the man an easy, cocky smile.

"Yeah, well, it's a _damn shame_ you couldn't be bothered to show up. We had a couple of unexpected visitors."

" _Yeah?_ " Adrian asked, sounding interested and a little curious, playing it perfectly. "Who?"

"Some very... _friendly_ girls, who made excellent company. It was really quite... _entertaining_."

"I'm sorry I missed it." Adrian smiled, biting his cheek to cut off the laugh at Alby's carefully non-distinct descriptions.

"Frankly," Alby said, suddenly serious. "I don't know how you arranged it. I don't **want** to know how you arranged it. But having the...girls stop by was great, **really** spectacular. The guys were stunned, completely thrilled. Any idea if they are going to...be able to... _ **visit**_ on a regular basis?"

"I'll see if I can convince them. Tonight, same place, same time?"

" _ **Tonight?**_ " Alby jerked at the idea, filled with equal parts shock and anticipation.

"Yeah, tonight. I think they'd like to meet the rest of the gladers – don't you?"

"Absolutely." Alby agreed, his smug smile at the concept fading as the cogs in his head turned. "It's just that..."

"That?"

"Can I ask your opinion on something?"

"Always."

"Should I bring the greenie?"

Adrian considered briefly.

"Probably best he sits this one out. I'd say give him a month or so to get used to it here before you throw something like this at him."

"How about Jeff? Am I bringing him?"

"Why _wouldn't_ you?"

"Well, it's just that...you two know each other so _well_ , what if he...he might..."

"It's fine." Adrian laughed, waving it off. "He'll only see what he expects to see. He's as welcome as anyone else."

"...What about Newt?" Alby asked quietly, worried about his blonde friend. Adrian winced a little at the question.

"With everything that happened to him...His body's healed, for the most part. But the... _ugliness_ , the pain of it all, is still **very much** front and center in his head. With...sex and pain tangled together in his thoughts, I'm afraid that this kind of thing might do more _harm_ than _good_ with him, at the moment. He needs time yet, before he can think past the horror of what happened."

Alby nodded sadly, wanting to share this new exciting experience with Newt, but knowing it would likely be a long wait before the runner could shake the trauma enough to participate. Adrian deliberately steered the conversation in a different direction to lift the mood.

"Bring the others to the meadow tonight, same time, same place. I'll make sure the entertainment's arranged."

"You're not joining us, then?" Alby asked with a cheeky little smile that Adrian returned.

"Oh, I don't think you'll need me. You're big boys, you can take care of yourselves. I'll grab the quiet time when I can get it – relax at my place, maybe try to catch up on some sleep. Not that I've got anything against your company, but sometimes it's nice to just take a bit of a breather."

The words sounded so effortless, convincing, even sincere; it took Alby very little effort to believe that Adrian would be right where he said he would be. He shrugged dismissively.

"Up to you, man. Your choice."

"Well, if **that's** all you needed me for," Adrian commented, clapping his hands together briskly in a dusting off motion. "I'll be heading off. I want to polish off the finishing work on the communal outhouse today before dinner."

"Get it done." Alby commanded amiably as he walked away, waving a hand in an absent minded farewell gesture as he went. Adrian rolled his eyes at the boy's back before turning striding away himself. Rolling a shoulder to loosen up his muscles, he prepared to roll up his metaphorical sleeves and finish this very important project before moving on to the next.

* * *

Alby's mood when he reached the clearing was markedly different than it had been the night before. Gone was his niggling suspicions, his unease, his agitation. As the pre-laid fire crackled to life and he settled against a tree to wait, all he felt was a lovely tingle of anticipation, the muscles in his belly already tight with an eagerness he couldn't control. As the boys around him grew restless and started muttering complaints under their breaths, he kept his smug smile inside and waited for the fun to begin.

When the rustling broke the breathy silence of the woods, Alby's blood began to pulse quicker. Knowing what to expect now, he watched with detached amusement as the other boys tried to pinpoint the noises, exclaiming in shock as the sultry laughter filled the small clearing. His guts quivered when George yelled out angrily, snapping at their unseen visitors and demanding they show themselves. Holding his breath, he absorbed every little detail he could of the woman's grand entrance.

In cape and mask, she tilted her head and waited. Alby recognized his cue.

"You're late." He stated roguishly, flashing a charming smile. She laughed and swirled off the cape, turning and addressing the others, just as she had the night before. He tuned out the majority of the words and drank in the sight of her instead.

She wore the same outfit as last night; those silky pale shoulders bared, the waterfall of mad curls dancing over them as she gracefully stepped into the light. Before she whirled, he caught the shadow of a thin leather choker low on her neck. And the glint of... _a chain? A necklace? Was she wearing those last night?_

He couldn't remember. He'd been a little preoccupied, after all.

He watched the end of her little explanation, seeing the sudden evasive glances of the boys, and Jeff's politely mortified dismissal of one woman handling more than a dozen boys. She called the girls then, and Alby felt a distinct sense of deja vu at seeing everything unfold in almost a perfect replication of last night. Holding himself back, he waited for his next cue.

"They will learn from you, and you will learn from them."

"And what, _exactly_ , are we going to learn?" Alby asked boldly, in a strong, confident voice that rang with challenge.

Althea tipped her head in acknowledgement, walking over to him and studying him with her heavy lidded stare. The lust was all but pumping off of him. She ran her flattened palm teasingly up his belly and over his chest, feeling the tautness of the muscles before her hand found a home on his shoulder.

He was already hard as iron.

"You are leader here, **yes?** We will _**demonstration**_ for you."

As soon as her lips touched his, his arms came up and wrapped around her waist tightly, forcing their bodies together. Always an apt pupil, he nipped her bottom lip and soothed it with his tongue as he ground their hips together. She moaned into the kiss, sending a dark thrill through the boy as he tore his mouth away from hers, moving his hands down to her nicely rounded backside and pressing her even closer. She gasped in his ear, her shoulders trembling as her arms vised around his neck.

When she arched into him and let her head fall back, he trailed feverish kisses down her throat, thrusting against her rhythmically as his desperation grew. Alby let out a long, low groan as he raced towards the finish.

Abruptly she pulled away, only to have Ashley, the pale blonde, slither into her place. Alby panted out a protest.

"... _w-wait_... **you**...I want... _ **I need**_..."

"I am knowing what you _need_." The woman said in her exotic accent, her voice more husky than before. "And for tonight, my Ashley will give as you need – she is to learn."

Ashley slid her hand slickly down to Alby's groin, skimming it under the waist of his pants and teasing the head of his erection with her quick, agile fingers. When she moved in to him, pressing against his body, using tongue and teeth to torment him as her hand busily worked, he kept his eyes on Althea, watching her as he was stroked to peak. His arms instinctively holding her tightly against him, Ashley's eager pumping and choking whimpers in his ear pushed him over the edge. He cried out wordlessly as he came.

"Ahh... _ye_...Ah... _ **.AHHHhhhHH!"**_

He couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears, his mind fuzzed by the sudden release of tension. Burying his face in the blonde hair of the trembling girl in his arms, safely curtained from the others by the silky pale mane, he mouthed a name over and over as his muscles jerked and quaked.

 _Althea. Althea. Althea._

Even when she turned, addressing the other boys, he couldn't really hear what she was saying. Peeking through the hair shielding his eyes, he watched as she moved among the others easily, setting the other girls up with two eager volunteers in no time at all. When his knees re-solidified enough for him to stand on his own he untangled himself from Ashley, and saw the woman glance back at where he stood. Her deeply red lips lifted into a wicked, knowing smile, and she touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth teasingly. He felt his body try to respond to the image she conjured in his mind.

When she turned and went back to business, he suddenly realized he was in big, big trouble.

* * *

Leading his troupe back into the house around midnight was a huge relief for Adrian; the pressures and stress of the evening lightening substantially as soon as he walked in the door. He wanted nothing more than to peel off the layers of Althea and collapse into his bed – and oblivion – for the next eight hours. Listening to the post game chatter from the others, he ignored as much of it as he could while he removed his costume and washed away the makeup from his face. Comfortably back in his beat up jeans, scrubbing a chunk of cloth over his face to dry it, his ears perked up when the tone subtly changed from jubilant to a little sulky.

"Don't get me _wrong,_ it was great. _ **Really.**_ " Brandon assured, his voice baring just a hint of an edge.

"Then what are you whining about?" Alec demanded, looking a little odd standing in nothing but his boxers and bra, his wig already neatly laid aside. "They were **all** over us! And _we_ got off, what _more_ do you shuckin' want?"

"Adrian _told us_ we'd have to take it _slow_." Stephen added, loosing his own hair from the tight, tidy bun that had restrained it all night. "You _know_ that."

"Yeah. I know, **I know**." Brandon pouted, his expression mutinous. "I just don't see the _point_ ; you saw how **into it** they all were? Why the shuck couldn't I just have _**one little taste?**_ One, that's **all** I ask!"

"Because I told you **no.** " Adrian snapped, instantly cutting off the conversation. As the three stared at him warily, his nostrils flaring as he deliberately moderated his frustrated tone to a more gentle one.

" **Look** , I _know_ you want more. You all do. _I get it_ , I understand." Adrian said, rubbing at the back of his skull where a headache was brewing. "But the thing you _have to remember_ is, they're **not ready** for more yet. Most of them can, or have, sought a hand from someone else before this. But the majority would _never_ agree to getting lip service – or _full service_ – from someone they _know_ is a dude."

"But they **don't** know we're dudes." Brandon insisted, pressing his point. The headache bloomed to full magnitude at the absurdity of that comment.

"Give your head a shake." Adrian scoffed, shaking his own and trying not to be too harsh with the boy. "They aren't a bunch of **idiots**. Of _course_ they know 'the girls' aren't _really_ girls. There's _no way_ they'd just believe that a bunch of randy girls would just _poof_ out of the woods for their enjoyment."

"B-but Adrian..." Stephen stammered, "If they _kn-know_ , why did they let us...?"

"Because a wiggle and a hand job is no more than they've _already gotten_ from some guy here. By _going slowly_ and _building up_ to more intimate contact, they'll not only have time to dream about 'the girls', but also to get to the point where they **choose** to believe that the girls are **real**. They'll think, and _dream_ , and tell themselves stories until those tales become the _truth_ – at least, in _their_ eyes. Always, _always_ remember; if you try to run **too** far **too** fast, you end up face planting and going _**nowhere at all**_. Try to do too much too soon, and it'll be _too much_ for them to believe; they'll push you away. And once they've pushed _**one**_ of you away, they'll **never** accept any of you. So, for safety sake, _slow and steady_."

Ashamed, contrite, Brandon hung his head a little as he understood his reckless desire for more only put all of them at risk.

"I'm sorry for being a _shank._ " He said softly.

Adrian clapped him on the back in consolation.

"Not a shank, just a bit rash, a bit _impatient_. Stick to the plan, B, and you'll get what you're after. It'll be all the _sweeter_ for having to wait for it, you'll see."

Mollified, Brandon looked up and appeared to be about to say something else when Alec jumped in.

"Now that that's all sorted out, can we maybe stop standing around like a bunch of toads, get the hell out of here and go home? I'm _beat_."

"Oh **God** yes, _please_ , be my guest." Adrian invited, walking over and opening the door for them himself. "Here's your hat, what's your hurry, don't let the door hit you on the way out. _**Bye**_."

Snickering, the three friends tromped out of the house and towards their own beckoning beds.

" _Finally!_ " Adrian groaned as he barred the door, blowing out all but the tiny stub of one candle and dropping down onto his bed with a thankful huff. Thinking longingly of the half jar of powerful drug left under his bed, he instead lifted a jar filled with a much milder concoction from the table to the side. Having the presence of mind to anticipate another restless night, he'd taken the time during the day to brew a strong tea of Chamomile, Catnip and a whiff of Californian Poppy. Downing the jar of strong sleep aid, he blew out the last candle and flopped onto his back on the bed. Trying to find a position that wouldn't increase his discomfort, he shifted restlessly for a couple of minutes until the herbal medicine pulled him into a deep, welcome sleep.

When morning came, as mornings insist on doing, Adrian woke flat on his back with a blissfully clear head. Remembering his mostly clear schedule for the day, feeling rested for the first time in a week, he was ready to dive in to whatever today held for him.

Well, almost ready.

With his body and mind refreshed and revived by a full eight straight, he couldn't ignore his physical reaction to the events of the last couple of nights any longer. He lifted his head and looked down at the tightly tented material of his boxers resentfully, as if a stern look of disapproval would have any power to alleviate the situation. He had adamantly refused to do anything about his own body's arousal after shooing 'the girls' away the last couple of nights, understanding that it was a perfectly natural, healthy reaction to the circumstances – and the stimulus. He was a man, after all; young, healthy, and at his peak. But while he had no doubt that he could find a hand if he wanted to, his own ethics and sense of morality shuddered at the very thought. Even the thought of relieving _himself_ after witnessing the actions of dozens of underage **BOYS** made him feel like a pervert; a _dirty old man_ , getting off over _kids_.

Letting his head thump back onto the pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, hoping a little time would allow his body to calm.

After ten minutes or more of intense concentration, he didn't have to look to know that his attempt at a zen like state had produced no noticeable effect what so ever.

He was still fully hard, his body demanding action.

He sighed in defeat.

 _Fine._ _ **FINE.**_ _Fine, I'll take care of it._ He told his body crossly.

Determined to use anything other than the images from the clearing, he pulled up an old, steamy memory from years before and let the pictures fill his head as he took himself in hand.

 _A dim room; private, hidden away from where he – they – should have been._

 _Strong shoulders, graceful neck, laughter sparkling in clear blue eyes._

 _Those slender pale hands, hesitant at first, barely touching him, exploring as his own did the same._

His fist pumped his insistent erection firmly, slowly building up speed. He bit his lip as the muscles in his stomach began to quiver.

 _Sloppy kisses. Sudden, electrifying gasps when his roaming hands grazed the bud of a nipple. The shocking thrill of teeth nipping at his shoulder._

His hand moved quicker, his toes curling into the bed. His breath came out in little excited puffs. He was close.

 _They both cried out when he slowly, agonizingly sunk himself into the the most intimate, the most maddening, the most indescribable embrace. Long legs, wrapping around him, pulling him closer, closer..._

So close...

 **BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG**

" _Addy!_ **Addy** _wake up!_ _**ADDY!**_ "

Frozen in place, barely biting back a moan, he snarled at the door.

"For _Christ_ sake kid, **WHAT?!** What's the _**goddamn emergency?!**_ "

"Frypan shucked himself good! Cut _right_ down to the bloody _bone_ , dropped the bloody oil and burned the klunk out of his arm too! Jeff sent me to get you, he _needs your help!_ "

He rolled out of bed, pulling his discarded jeans and shirt on in a blink. Yanking the bar away from the door, he shoved it open and followed the already running Newt in a rapid – if slightly bowlegged – sprint.

* * *

Author's note ~ The song featured in this chapter is Looking Glass by Hypnogaja

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	38. Strike Two

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _He rolled out of bed, pulling his discarded jeans and shirt on in a blink. Yanking the bar away from the door, he shoved it open and followed the already running Newt in a rapid – if slightly bowlegged – sprint._

* * *

Adrian overtook Newt scant steps in front of the med hut, passing the boy and slowing his urgent run to a more dignified and powerful stride as he moved through the small building. It was impossible to ignore the panicky shouting and babbling flowing from the office; two voices raised in anger and hysteria, one of which was so squeaky in pitch it all but hurt his teeth. Two others speaking much lower, their agitated voices weaving through the ruckus. Following the clear path of splotches and spatters on the dirt floor the man focused on projecting a calm, collected authority as he pushed his way into the frenetic atmosphere of the room. Four people were jammed into the small office, only three of which Adrian knew.

"What's going on here, guys?"

Everyone started talking at once.

"It's not the first shucking time I've cut myself, and it **won't** be the last! I just need a damn _bandage!_ I need to get back to the kitchen, what, you think f _ood makes itself?!_ **No way** he's sewing me up like some _klunk bag of flour!_ " Frypan snarled, his right hand wrapped in a formerly white chunk of cloth and steadily dripping on the floor, his smooth dark skin a patchwork of angry red burns and blisters.

The unfamiliar boy, short, stocky, and currently as pale as flour himself, looked to be on the edge of fainting as his voice squeaked over the injured cook.

"It's bad it's bad it's bad it's bad! I saw it, _I saw it_ before he wrapped it! _Oh god_ , it's to the bone, _right to the bone_ , what are we gonna do?! _What if he loses his hand?_ Is he going to lose his hand? **Ohgodohgodohgod,** what are we gonna _**do?!**_ "

"He has to let me look at it." Jeff insisted, already sweating bullets, his eyes cutting from Adrian to Frypan desperately. "I can't help if I can't even look at it. This is what I've been training for, I can't just wrap it up without _looking at it!_ "

"You're **bleeding** all over the shuckin' place and you're worried about finishing _breakfast?_ " Alby demanded, his patience obviously worn thin. " _Forget_ breakfast! Stop being a whiny little slinthead and just let them deal with it! How do you expect to make meals without any _fingers_ left on your stupid hand?!"

"That's **enough!** " Adrian boomed over the din, instantly drawing attention from all parties. "You're acting like children. Let's just calm the hell down and take this one step at a time. Firstly; you." He pointed at the boy he didn't know. "Name."

" _R-Rob_. I'm Rob. I work in the kitchen with Frypan and the other guys. What're we gonn–"

" **Stop**." Adrian ordered firmly. "Go and sit on one of the bunks in the main area for a few minutes. Put your head between your knees if you feel sick, or woozy. Take deep breaths. Maybe Newt can get you a drink of water." The runner nodded, stepping out quickly. "When you feel steady, go back to the kitchen. Tell them to continue prepping breakfast, and that someone will come by shortly to help sort things out."

"But...but, _we don't_...without Frypan... _we can't_..."

"Go. Sit, _breathe_ , water, kitchen. We'll sort out the rest later. Go. **Now**."

Sick and shaking, the boy stumbled out of the office and collapsed on a rough bunk, choosing one as far from the office as he could get. Moving on, Adrian turned to Alby.

"I've got it under control here. Perhaps you could stop off at the cook hut, let them know things are okay, see if you can get the others working on what needs doing there."

"Yeah, I _can_ , it's just...I don't know anything about cooking." Alby confessed, watching the cook with a mixture of frustration and concern on his face. Adrian felt his eye twitch at the statement.

"Keep them calm. Tell them to peel potatoes, chop onions, bring in four dozen eggs, if we have them. Make sure they have flour on hand. Let them know I'll be by to help them in a little while."

"Yeah, okay." Alby nodded as he left, considerably relieved at the simple, specific instructions. "I can do _that._ "

Adrian finally turned to the actual victim, stoically silent, his rich black skin going ashy and clammy while Jeff fluttered around ineffectively.

"You've lost a lot of blood. Hop up on the bed, let's get you cleaned up and on your way."

" _Just a bandage_ , you hear me?" Frypan asserted, wobbling a little as he complied and got up on the bed. "I'm not a freakin' pair of runnies, _I don't want no needlepoint_ on me!"

"Let's see what we can do. Jeff?"

Already moving, calmer and more confident in the man's presence, the fledgling medic hustled around the med hut gathering disinfectant, ointment, clean cloths and bandages, and started a pot of water boiling for an oral painkiller. Adrian quickly tied a tourniquet mid way up the forearm before easing the blood soaked fabric away, gently uncurling the cold fingers to expose the cut. As it looked like the cook had dipped the whole appendage in crimson paint, he gently cleaned the area around the gaping slash and leaned in to get a closer look.

It wasn't pretty. _But, all in all_ , Adrian decided, _it could have been worse_.

"Good news, bad news." He told Frypan placidly. "The bad news is yes, you went right down to the bone, and we will need to stitch it. If we _don't,_ " He continued, cutting off Frypan's angry refusal, "you're looking at three weeks or longer before you can use this hand for anything – and it'll **never be the same**. If I just wrap it, try to force it to heal without securing the flesh and muscles in place...even when the skin is healed you'll have to deal with continuing weakness and intermittent shakiness at best, _permanent_ loss of fine control and full tremors, at worst."

"What's the **good** news?!" Frypan snarled, eyes a little glassy.

"You missed the major tendons and nerves, from the look of it." Adrian answered, cleaning off the last bit of blood from the wide, calloused hand. "Meaning we can disinfect it, sew it up, slap a bandage on it, and you can get back to light duty in five days, probably full duty in three or four after that. In two weeks, should be good as new – _if we stitch it now_." He said firmly. Frypan swallowed audibly.

"...fine. **Fine**." Frypan grumbled, caving with ill grace. "If you're _so damn sure_ it's the only way...just do it then. Get it over with."

Adrian refrained from commenting, subtly waving Jeff over from where he stood at the ready, a threaded needle in his hand. He gently poked and prodded the skin around the burns on Frypan's left arm and the left side of his neck while Jeff competently sutured the gaping wound. Satisfied, he stepped back and gave the medjack room to work.

"Mostly second degree burns, easy enough to treat. A few small spots of third degree, here and here," Adrian commented, pointing to a number of thicker, whitish areas on Frypan's arm to show Jeff, "Clean the thirds first, taking off the dead surface skin. Then coat everything in a thick layer of antibiotic ointment. Get a painkiller and an anti-inflammatory in him, hydrate him, and set him loose. And, _if_ you want to heal as _quickly as you can_ ," He said, directing a no-nonsense look at the surly cook, "you'll apply the cream he gives you, three times a day, **and** come in for a check up _every day for a week._ Got it?"

Frypan muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. Still, Adrian understood the words were more for show than anything, and believed the proud cook would do as he was instructed. Assured that Jeff had things well under control, he clapped a hand gently to Frypan's uninjured shoulder, giving it a brotherly squeeze and addressing the underlying reason for the boy's concern.

"You don't need me here; I'll head over to the kitchen, see to things over there. We'll get breakfast out to the masses, no worries."

He could all but feel the relief rolling off the cook as he headed for the door.

The building that housed the cooking facilities was visibly older than any of the others Adrian had seen in the glade, and was put together in such a manner that the man felt it had probably hadn't been built by teenage hands. Walking into the cook hut was like stepping through a portal to some weird kindergarten cooking class – with the teacher no where to be found. Four boys (including the now slightly steadier Rob) were rushing around ineffectively, no one knowing what they were doing or where they were going, hectically flitting from task to task and accomplishing nothing in the process. Alby stood by the wall at the far side, watching the chaos and looking utterly out of his depth.

Despite all the confusion it was clear that Alby had relayed his instructions. He spied a huge pot of peeled potatoes, a small mountain of chopped onions, a large basket of eggs, a bag of flour hanging drunkenly off a table. The three fireplaces were burning hot; two were covered with large sheets of thick steel and the other with a kind of grate, providing multiple cooking surfaces. He could work with this.

He bound his hair back into a little stub of a tail with a small elastic band that had been among the medical supplies, taking a spare rag he'd stuffed in his pocket and tying it over his scalp to serve as a hair net. He rolled up his sleeves, cracked his neck, and considered himself ready.

" _Oi!_ Slim it, **now!** " He belted out, the volume and familiar phrase cutting off the noise and movement. "Frypan's out for a couple of days – which means this is _**my**_ kitchen now." One of the boy looked a little dubious at the strange announcement, but the others looked pitifully grateful to have some form of direction. "We've got three dozen hungry mouths to feed, _hop to it!_ **You** , crack those eggs into the second biggest bowl we got, then beat 'em smooth. **You** ," Adrian pointed to assign tasks, not bothering to ask for names at the moment, "Show me where the dry goods are, then hit the bloodhouse. Tell Winston I want a bucket of milk – and I don't want to wait all morning for it! You, **Rob** , get those potatoes chopped, little cubes. **You,** biggest bowl, two thirds full with flour, then bring over a big bucket of water and ten of those eggs, unbroken. When you've done that, help Rob with the potatoes. Get on it, **move** your asses!"

The boys scrambled off, still moving frantically but this time doing so with actual purpose now that they had been given their orders. Left alone in the pantry for a moment, Adrian methodically took stock of the available supplies.

 _Jars of spices, bags of salt, yes, good. Baking powder, baking soda, okay, thanks for that. What's this? Yeast? He sniffed the container. Yeast. That'll come in handy. Oatmeal, perfect, that's tomorrow's breakfast then. Rice, dry beans, lentils, various grains. Oil, lots of oil, good, good. No pasta, there's a pity, but I can work around it. I know there's fresh vegetables from the gardens, so that's a plus. Sugar, that's nice to have. Curing salt?_ _ **Really?**_ _Who the hell would have sent this up, thinking these kids would just know how to use it?_

Backing away from the rough wooden shelves with an assortment of jars and bottles in his arms, he spied a largish rusted metal cube stuffed in one corner of the room. Setting his supplies on top of it, he ran a hand over it curiously before tugging on the incised handle on the side.

"You've **got** to be kidding me."

It was a refrigeration unit; old and beat up, the interior giving off a musty smell, but very operational from the crisp cold that pumped out of the empty space inside. It appeared far too heavy and awkward for the boys to have moved by hand, so he was forced to assume that it had been put in place before the first group was sent up. He couldn't see any power supply, so he guessed that it was most likely hard wired in place, receiving electricity from an outside source. Curious, he didn't hesitate to ask.

"You've always had a cold box in here?"

"What? Oh, _that_. Yeah." Rob answered absently, glancing up from his growing mound of chopped potatoes. "Dunno _why_ , we never use it. It's just always been there, taking up space, and it's too shuckin' heavy to move out, so we ignore it and work around it."

Inwardly rolling his eyes at the careless dismissal of such an important asset, he started doctoring up the bowl of flour as the boy he'd sent for milk puffed his way over, setting down the heavy pail with a grunt.

"You, milkmaid, your name?" Adrian asked, briskly breaking eggs into his dry mixture.

"Lee. Meetcha. What next?"

"You ever make pancakes before, Lee?"

* * *

Adrian systematically worked his way through creating the meal, ordering the boys around without a second thought – it was painfully clear that none of them were particularly good at thinking on their feet, or taking initiative to move from task to task without instruction. It was only slightly after the normal breakfast time when Adrian took the bins of fresh, steaming food and set them up on Frypan's usual serving table. Already a line of hungry boys was waiting for him, most with eyes still crusted from sleep, looking cranky and impatient at the short wait. Leaving the four kitchen helpers sitting in the cook hut with their own portions, Adrian took charge of serving.

Though he hadn't done any appreciable work with food in a long time, Adrian very quickly formed a rhythm that had the line moving briskly – take the offered plate, add two pancakes, a decent scoop of scrambled eggs, a bigger scoop of seasoned pan-fried potatoes and onions, take the next plate. He swiped a forearm across his sweaty forehead, falling into a kind of trance as he worked, dishing up plates without breaking stride. Surly expressions and questioning looks at the absence of Frypan quickly changed to hunger and greed as boys got a good look at (and smell of) the meal set before them. By the time the rest of the gladers had trickled in and lined up, others were already cuing up at the back, hoping for seconds. Adrian was brought back to the moment when a familiar snicker accompanied the plate thrust into his hands.

"Smells pretty bloody good." Newt conceded, watching the man with laughing eyes. "And I must _say_ , you look absolutely _precious_ in an apron. Mary. Thanks for breakfast."

"Keep it up, brat," Adrian replied dryly. "and you'll be eating _mush_ while the others dine on steak."

Scoffing at the idea, Newt moved out of the line and leaned on the wall of the cook hut behind Adrian, shoveling in the unexpected treat as he watched the man.

"Wuu 'n Gff ghee Fliiipahn swart'd ooet?" He tried to ask.

"Yeah, he'll be alright. Don't talk with your mouth full."

Newt swallowed, snorting at the uselessness of the comment.

"Yes _Mother_ , sorry _Mother_." Newt teased before taking another huge bite.

"Speak of the devils." Adrian commented, ignoring the bad joke as he spotted the cook and the medjack straggling into the dining area. He waved them to the front of the line, to the disappointed grumbling of the boys waiting for a second helping. He filled both of their plates generously, thinking of energy spent and blood lost just that morning. Noting that they were the last to get their meal, he called one of the others to serve the leftovers.

"Dave! Front and center!"

A whip skinny boy with a spatter of freckles across his pale face scooted out of the building.

"Yeah! I'm here, what's...oh, _hey_ , it's **Frypan!** "

"Good eyes." Adrian said teasingly, unable to bring himself to really rip on the kid. "It's Frypan, indeed. I'm sure he'll poke his head in once he's eaten and before we're done with breakfast, but until then...finish serving these gluttons, would you? Everyone's been through once, now it's free for all."

"Got it." Dave chirped happily, thrilled to see his keeper up and about with his own eyes.

Adrian swooped back into the kitchen, nodding to the three boys relaxing with their empty plates. Newt ducked in behind him, catching the tail end of his address.

"...and once the dishes from breakfast are done, I want two of you to haul in another bag of flour, one of grain, a dozen clean jars with lids, and another couple buckets of fresh water. Peel and chop enough carrots to fill that pot, same again of potatoes, peel and chop nine big onions. Kill the fire in the second flat top, boost the one on the grill. I've got to go see the slicers; I'll be back in a while."

When Adrian turned to go, he almost bumped right into the silently observing boy behind him.

"Sorry kid, didn't know you were in here."

"No worries." He answered, watching Adrian with a speculative look in his eyes. " _Blood_ y good breakfast, as I said. Did you get any of it?"

"I'll eat later." Adrian replied, brushing off the thinly veiled concern. "First, I've got to talk to a man about a pig – and get prep for lunch and dinner going."

Newt was speechless.

" _Lunch and dinner?_ We're still finishing breakfast!"

"And you think I can just whip out a meal for forty people in ten minutes flat, do you?" Adrian spoke over his shoulder, already on the move. "Food takes time; time to prep, make, serve. Time to plan, to clean up after. I start _now_ , or come lunch time you'll be making do with apples and leftover pancakes."

Newt watched him go, baffled.

* * *

By the time mid afternoon rolled around Adrian was ready for a break. Haggling over cuts of meat with Winston, chasing Frypan out of the kitchen, throwing together a down and dirty batch of wood stove quick biscuits, slapping them together with pork skewers and crunchy carrot sticks and calling it lunch, chasing Frypan out of the kitchen again, and setting the preps up to work on dinner, he had no qualms about stealing an hour for himself before the dinner rush hit. After an interruption, an adrenaline rush, and several hours of sweaty work, his already long day wasn't even close to finished yet.

Carrying a banged up metal bucket, a small metal tube he'd unearthed in the bowels of the kitchen and a long thick nail he'd coerced out of one of the supply crates, he headed into the cover of the trees.

It didn't take him long to spot what he was looking for; twenty five or thirty feet tall, the distinctive rippled bark and unmistakable five lobed leaves identifying it quicker than if someone had pinned a sign to its bark. Pulling his knife from the sheath on his belt, he used the razor sharp tip to carve a small hole through the bark and into the wood, whittling until he felt it was large enough. Grabbing a rock from the ground at his feet, he carefully wiggled the small tube into the hole, gingerly tapping it with the stone to make sure it was firmly set in the wood. He hammered the spike into the tree with the same rock, a hand's breadth above the tube, angling the nail downward and driving it deep. He hung the bucket on the nail, centered the opening under the tube and nodded approval, dropping the rock and dusting his hands off as he headed down toward the water.

Down at the bend of the creek where it formed a pool, Adrian stripped off his sweaty, spattered clothes, easing his jeans past the stubborn half erection he'd been sporting since dawn.

Keeping himself busy, focusing on helping Jeff, directing the cooks and planning meals, it had all kept his mind occupied. Unfortunately his body stubbornly refused to let the issue go, leaving him increasingly tense and uncomfortable as the hours trudged on. He slid into the water, but even the sharp drop in temperature couldn't completely erase the fire in his belly. After swimming back and forth for a few minutes he pulled himself up on a rock in a little dip by the shore, conveniently sheltered by some low hanging branches and a large fallen log. Leaning against the wood, he prepared to alleviate the problem himself.

Going for speed rather than grace he gripped himself and started pumping quickly, hoping to finish quickly and get on with his day. Hunching over, his hand moving rapidly, he breathed through his teeth as he felt the pressure build.

A voice shouted out from where he'd left his clothes.

" **Hey Addy?** "

Mouthing a curse that would make a hardened sailor blush, Adrian brought both knees up to hide his arousal from sight.

" _What?_ "

"I thought this was your gear! Having a bit of a swim?" Newt asked, oblivious to the stress in the man's voice.

"...yeah."

"Sounds good. I think I'll join you. Here I come!"

 _Not me_ , Adrian thought sourly, hearing the shuffling of Newt pulling off his clothes. Bitterly disappointed, he slid off the rock and back into the water, ducking under and swimming hard for the centre of the pool where the water was colder – and less transparent, a scathing voice in the back of his head.

 _A swing and a miss. Strike two._

* * *

Dinner that night went by in a blur. Despite being considerably disgruntled, Adrian tried his hardest not to take out his irritation on the guys in the kitchen, working feverishly to try and dispel some of his frustrated energy. If he wasn't in an especially chatty mood, no one noticed or bothered to comment, competently following his directives and preparing the evening meal without incident. He kept track of the chatter absently, noting in the back of his brain that the cooks usually took turns instead of all working the same days; Lee and Dave worked with Frypan one day, Rob and a short dark skinned boy named Peter coming in the next. Lee and Dave should have had the day off today, but with Frypan's accident that morning it was all hands on deck. When asked Adrian was quick to assure them that the rotation would stand; he was confident that actually knowing he would be on kp for a while would give him the forewarning to plan out meals ahead of time, and two extra pairs of hands to help should be ample.

Once again working the front line, Adrian nodded in acceptance of the compliments and praise for the rich beef stew with dumplings he'd put together, acknowledging the pleasantries but not really hearing the words. He mentally flicked through ideas and possible recipes as he served, trying to keep his mind occupied so he couldn't focus on his own physical discomfort. Struggling to not rush, he methodically served every glader their dinner, again calling out one of the others to finish serving once everyone had received their first portion.

Tear down and clean up was relatively quick, and blessedly painless. Feeling his duties were done for the day and determined to duck out, Adrian attempted to slide out of the area unnoticed. Alby sidled up and snagged him before he could take his leave. Agitated but in control, he wanted an update as to Frypan's projected healing time, brought up the idea of the development of a back up plan should something like this happen again, and fervently requested the man continue to take the wheel in the kitchen until the boy was able to return to duty. Placating the leader took some time and plenty of assurances, and Adrian was just easing away when his 'girls' ambushed him, asking for a chunk of his time.

All said and done, when he eventually managed to slink out of the dining area the stars had begun to wink on and twilight had fallen over the glade. Done, so utterly done with the day, he wearily made his way towards the comfort – and solitude – of his little house.

Finally alone in the growing shadows of the forest, his jeans painfully tight, he waddled towards his cabin taking the longer but less physically strenuous route. His nether region throbbed like a bad tooth as though it had a mind of its own, demanding immediate attention.

 _Can you not? Can you just wait for ten damn minutes, until I can get home and bar the door?_ He thought tersely.

 _Absolutely not_ , it seemed to say, the persistent pressure making every step painful.

Gritting his teeth in a grimace, Adrian made it to a copse of slender young trees hardly a stone's throw north-west his front door, leaning his head against one of the trees and breathing raggedly.

If someone knocked on his door and disturbed him again, he wasn't sure he'd survive it.

Knowing most would approach his home from the north and figuring it was extremely unlikely for someone to stumble across him in his current location, especially in the next twenty minutes or so, he succumbed to his body's demands. Hissing as he delicately guided the zipper down, he couldn't completely stop a whimper from escaping his lips as he exposed his overly sensitive flesh.

This was going to be quick.

* * *

Author's Note ~

Poor Addy. XD

See you next chapter.

~Ruby


	39. Running

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy

* * *

 _Hissing as he delicately guided the zipper down, he couldn't completely stop a whimper from escaping his lips as he exposed his overly sensitive flesh._

 _This was going to be quick._

* * *

It wasn't nagging, Newt assured himself as he traveled the now familiar path through the twilight of the forest. He wasn't being a nuisance, or acting...clingy. He'd slipped out of the dining area moments after the man, dead set on finding out what was going on. He was legitimately concerned. All day he'd had a growing sense that something was off with Adrian, something not quite right. The Adrian **HE** knew didn't snap at him, even when he was knocking on the door at dawn, and certainly didn't answer an innocent question in the condescending kind of tone he'd used after breakfast. The Adrian **HE** knew didn't get cranky when Newt joined him for a swim, or act as though his company was a bother. The Adrian **HE** knew didn't get all quiet and surly when he was working, or give off angry vibes, or refuse to return a smile. Something was going on, something was wrong, and he was going to find out what it was.

Maybe Adrian was sick?

A skittering in the underbrush startled the boy and he turned to give whatever it was a wide berth – just to be safe. While he may have ended up taking a somewhat more circuitous route than originally intended, he still reached his destination in the end. He could see the tidy little house through a break in the forest ahead and moved towards it, skirting between a tall tangle of ferns and a wide crooked tree right on the edge of a stand of smaller conifers, his footsteps silent on the deep bed of pine needles. Just as he was going to pass the wide trunk he heard it; the quick, hitching breaths of someone in distress.

 _Addy_.

He peered through a snarl of shoulder height broad leaf bushes, easily spotting the pale color of Adrian's thin t shirt among the greens and browns of the foliage. Back to him, his left arm laid across the bark of a young tree, the man stood with his head lowered and his tightened shoulders hunched. It looked like he was shivering. His posture clearly defensive, his ragged breathing sounding like stifled sobs, Newt's heart dropped down to his shoes.

 _What is it, Addy? What's got you so...so shattered?_

Not knowing what to say but grimly committed to offering whatever solace he could, he started to skirt around the bush, the leaves rustling as he reached out to push the branches aside.

Adrian turned his head sharply, abruptly silent. His face held an odd mixture of anger, frustration and pain.

"You've **got** to be shucking _kidding_ me! **Jesus Christ** , can I not get **TEN** _God Damn_ minutes to myself around here? Can you not entertain yourselves for _**TEN SHUCKING MINUTES?!**_ "

Newt had recoiled as soon as Adrian had turned, sliding back behind the tree to hide. As he'd started to round the corner he got a clearer glimpse at the way Adrian was standing – and the position of his right hand. Mortally embarrassed, wondering it it was possible to hit a fatal level of humiliation, he could actually feel the heat in his face as his pale skin turned brick red.

 _Oh_.

 _ **OH.**_

 _That_ was why Adrian had been tense all day.

This morning, had he been...? Was he expecting some _alone tim_ e at the swimming hole, and Newt had interrupted him?

And he was worried that the man was ill.

Feeling like a simple minded child for failing to recognize the – now that he thought about it – rather obvious signs he'd been seeing all day, he cowered against the tree, petrified at the thought of the painfully cringe-worthy conversation that now loomed over him.

"Look, if someone's there, just... _just take a damn walk_ , would you? Unless someone's bleeding to death or there's an army coming, _go away_ and give me some freakin' _space_."

Newt covered his mouth with his hand. Adrian hadn't seen him.

A long, pregnant pause followed.

" _Is someone there?_ " The man demanded.

Newt said nothing.

Another long, tense silence was punctuated by a heavy sigh, and a low muttering of words that Newt couldn't quite hear. Reassured by the unmistakable dismissal, the boy decided on the spot to remain motionless and unnoticed rather than try to slink away and risk discovery. He'd committed to being a better, stronger, more mature Newt; surely he could mentally twiddle his thumbs for a short period while the man took care of himself, giving Adrian some well earned privacy. It was the mature, adult response to the situation.

Newt was, after all, a guy. He lived in a relatively small space with dozens of other guys. While not frequent, he had disturbed other gladers engaged in personal acts a time or two before. And, sleeping in such close quarters, it was inevitable that you could hear the nightly actions of those around you. In self-defense and out of deference to the personal business of others, he'd learned to tune out the shuffling, the panting, the groaning in the night. Wrapped up warm and tight in his own hammock, he didn't even hear them anymore; they were just one more bit of white noise far off in the background. Surely he could apply the same principle here.

Though he was tempted to plug his ears to give Adrian complete seclusion, Newt feared doing so would leave him vulnerable should the man walk this way after he had...after he was finished. He compromised and closed his eyes instead, picturing the stone and ivy walls of the maze, mentally mapping out the route he'd be running the next day. He was finally going back into a full rotation in the maze – he needed to start thinking like a runner again. Following twists and turns in his head, he tried to focus on his task, his job, his purpose.

But closing his eyes only sharpened his sense of hearing.

How could he ever have mistaken that shuddering breath for anguish? Even knowing he'd been ignoring this sort of thing for as long as he'd been in the glade, he struggled to block out the sound.

 _Ivy on the walls, dry dusty stone beneath his feet._

Little gasps, a low, quiet, throaty moan.

 _Concentrate. Left, left, right, straight, left_.

The whisper of cloth as his arm moved relentlessly, a choked off whimper.

 _Cut...cut the ivy. Mark the route. Don't break strike. Keep moving. Remember..._

More intense movement now, harsher breathing. Sweat pearled on Newt's forehead.

 _Remember the path. Have to remember the path, so you can make the map, so you –_

"Ah... _.ah_... _ **y-es!**_ "

Newt shivered once, violently, as the man let out a strangled cry of release. Trying not to fidget as he waited for the man to leave so that he could escape, he didn't realize he'd been biting his lip until the coppery tang of blood fogged across his tongue.

It felt like ages, weeks, years before the man's breathing leveled out and he heard the sound of slow footsteps heading into the clearing. Newt opened his eyes hurriedly, noting dizzily that twilight still hovered over the glade. Swallowing thickly, he headed back the way he'd come as quickly and quietly as he could. Sweaty, a little shaky – and feeling a purely physical pull he hadn't in a long time – Newt all but ran to his bed and quickly hid under his blankets, curling into a churned up and terribly confused little ball.

He trembled as his treacherous mind refused to let him slide into the oblivion of sleep, replaying the sights – and sounds – of the scene he'd just witnessed over and over in his head. He curled himself tighter, trying to deny his body's acute and unexpected reaction to what he'd seen.

 _Why? Why am I reacting like this?_ He thought brokenly, his skin hot from embarrassment – and excitement. _It's not like I haven't heard, haven't seen other guys doing...that. Why am I...do I feel like...this?_

 _I shouldn't feel like this._

 _It was_ _ **only**_ _Addy. It was_ _ **just**_ _Addy._

Something like grief settled into the pit of his stomach.

 _It was_ _ **Addy**_.

* * *

Adrian slept like the dead, and woke feeling strong and rested. The haze of sexual frustration gone from his mind, he walked into the cook hut when the sun was barely breaking over the tall stone walls, whistling a cheery little tune and carrying a mostly full metal bucket.

He lit the cooking fires, checked on a a few items he'd prepped the night before and had the contents from the bucket boiling hard before Lee and Dave stumbled in for the day, still yawning and rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Both sniffed the air heartily as they caught wind of an unusual but deliciously sweet smell. Adrian just smiled, gesturing toward the supplies already laid out.

"Let's get on it, guys. The horde will be here before we know it."

Keeping it simple, he sent one for a fresh bucket of milk and started the other on cooking up a huge batch of oats. Satisfied the boys could handle the simple meal, Adrian retrieved a large covered bowl of dough he'd put together last night and punched down first thing this morning, pulling out small handfuls of soft yeasty bread dough and rolling them between his palms. In minutes he'd covered two rough metal sheet pans, sliding them into the grooves nicked into the side walls of the rudimentary wood stove. The intoxicating smell of bread baking filled the cook hut, causing Lee to sigh in appreciation as he came in with the heavy bucket of milk.

Working quickly and keeping an eagle eye on his buns, Adrian hauled a large chunk of delicately pale pork from the ancient refrigeration unit and made short work of slicing pieces, so thin they were translucent, from the hunk of meat. He threw the mass of meat on the flat grill above the baking rolls and hit the pantry, coming back with a couple of little bottles in his hand. He picked up a long battered butcher knife and began flipping the meat, unscrewing the top of each jar in turn as he worked, sprinkling the spices liberally without ever allowing the meat to stop moving. He called over his shoulder as he worked.

"How many runners are going out today, Lee?"

"Huh? Oh, uh...nine. I think." Lee answered from where he rigorously cleaned up the detritus created from the morning work. "Wait, no... _.eight_ , yeah, eight. Newt's back to running solo, so eight. Why?"

"What kind of food do you normally send with them?" Adrian asked, brushing away the slight unease of his fragile friend being out there alone.

"Whatever we've got, usually."

"Mostly apples, other fruit or veg if we've got it, leftover meat if it isn't too messy." Dave added, shrugging as he meticulously stirred a large pot of rapidly thickening gruel. "We don't exactly got a lot of choices for go lunches, here. Well, for _any_ meal, really. Breakfast is usually leftovers from whatever we had the night before."

Adrian transferred the tender cooked meat from the grill to a bowl, then used a chunk of burlap to protect his hand as he pulled the pans from the oven. Setting the now golden buns and the bowl of meat on top of a shelf to cool, he checked on his boiling pot, grinning as he noted the thick viscous texture of the liquid. With a roguish light dancing in his eyes, he tipped the pot for the others to see.

"Oh, I think we can do a _little_ better than leftovers. Let's serve it up."

Breakfast was received with just as much enthusiasm as it had been the day before, each glader ardently savoring a large hot serving of thick oatmeal, swimming in creamy milk and indulgently topped with newly made maple syrup. Adrian only served the first dozen or so boys himself before leaving Dave on the line, ducking back into the kitchen to throw together lunches for those who'd spend their day burning through calories as they ran the stone labyrinth beyond the gates. Slicing into each fluffy roll, he heaped on a generous portion of the now cooled pork and wrapped each meat bun in a piece of brown paper, unearthed from the supply room. The thick sheath of pre-cut sheets had been buried under various other more important supplies, and Adrian was grateful to have found it. Using more burlap he made up eight bundled lunches, each containing a meat bun, an apple, and a second bun he'd split and drizzled with maple syrup before closing it up again. As though on cue, Minho poked his head in the door as he was tying the last bundle shut with a length of rough twine.

"Hey _Chef_ , we're on the move. Great breakfast. What's for lunch?"

"Bagged and tagged and ready to roll." Adrian stated, carrying the make shift lunch bags out of the kitchen.

Minho's cheeky grin turned to one of curious speculation – and greed – as he accepted the amply sized packages of food. "Whatever else I can say about you, man, you _sure_ know how to make a meal. What've you packed – "

Frypan shoved past the keeper of the runners, nearly knocking him off balance as he got up in Adrian's face, his own twisted with anger and outrage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He snarled, his uninjured hand balled in rage. "You think you can just **take over** my kitchen – _my kitchen_ – and force me out? _Toss me over_ like some snot nosed greenie and take **my** place?!" Adrian pivoted and placed a hand on his back, smoothly guiding the livid boy into the cook hut as he ranted.

"You, you think _I don't know_ what this is?" He demanded, pointing a shaking finger at the calmly waiting man. "Just cause I'm laid up for a day or two, just cause you know a _little_ 'bout food, you can take _my place?_ Be the keeper, be _the new cook?_ My _name_ is **FRYPAN. THIS IS MY KITCHEN!** " He bellowed, his voice rising ever second that Adrian stayed silent. "I worked with you before, yeah, so you got some good ideas, _so shuckin' what?_ No just-got-here _slinthead_ is gonna chuck me outta _my own kitchen_ , take _my shuckin' place!_ " His chest heaved with the insult of it, and for one long tense moment, no one said anything at all.

Incongruously, Adrian loosed a deep, heartfelt rumble of laughter. Frypan stared at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"I don't want your job, Fry." He chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity of the moment. "You couldn't _**pay**_ me to do what you do, three times a day, day after day after _day_. No chance, _no way._ "

The man's visible mirth at the idea let the tension out of the air like a pin to a balloon. Lee let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief as the atmosphere lightened.

"You've done a _damn fine job_ of feeding all these gladers for going on _two years_. **Especially** considering what you have to work with, and adding in that you had _no idea_ where to start when you got here. That's commendable. But you're out with an injury and someone has to step in and hold the fort until you're back on the roll – I just _happen_ to be the most qualified to do so. So you're kitchen's in my hands for the _moment_ ; and you've got to know it's safe with me. Just don't enjoy your little vacation _**too much**_ ; as soon as you're back, I'll be **more** than thrilled to apply myself elsewhere."

Frypan huffed, letting out a jumbled mutter under his breath.

"...all praisin'...goin' _on and on_...so much **better.**.."

Adrian shook his head, taking pity on the jealous boy.

"I happen to have access to a resource you don't." He reminded gently. "I can take one look in the pantry and know **exactly** what everything is – **and** how to use it. I know how to gauge amounts, mix and measure and put things together. I came in here with an understanding and a knowledge that _**you never had**_ , or are unable to remember. And unless you've got pressing business elsewhere," Adrian mentioned, watching the boy closely, "I was thinking you might be interested in hanging in here with us. You're not ready to get your hands back in it yet, but there's no reason I can't show you a few of the tricks I know, teach you some recipes. By the time you reclaim your kitchen, _trust me_ , they won't be talking about my food. They'll be drooling over _**yours**_."

"What kind of food?" Frypan asked, intrigued but suspicious. "I don't **do** no fancy crap here."

In lieu of answering, Adrian walked over to the cold unit and pulled out a large plastic bag, bulging from the large slab of pork belly marinating in a concoction of spices.

"What're your feelings on _bacon?_ "

* * *

Despite a restless and mostly sleepless night, Newt was ready – even eager – to get back out into the maze. Ready to prove he was off the bench, ready to do something productive and necessary. Ready to get the hell out of the glade for a few hours. He'd accepted and wolfed down his breakfast without trying to make conversation, hardly taking the time to enjoy the sweet treat and promptly heading to the North gate to wait for the great stone wall to groan open. He did a few cursory stretches, hearing his keeper slide up beside him and not bothering to acknowledge his presence until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and accepted the brown cloth bundle held out without comment, stuffing it unceremoniously into his runner's bag. Minho watched him with undecipherable eyes.

"You're _sure_ you're ready to be back in the game?" Minho asked, in a deadly serious voice with none of his usual sarcasm or cheek.

"Absolutely." Newt replied tersely, looking directly into his friend's eyes to drive the point home. "I've been on bloody holiday for _far too long_."

Neither broke the intense stare as the gate started to move, grinding to a shuddering halt and offering a great yawning gap into the belly of the beast. Minho nodded once in solidarity.

"Let's go!"

Running. Hard stone under his feet, cool air in his lungs. Running. A knife in his hand to cut the ivy on the fly, marking turns. His muscles warmed, moving fluidly as they propelled him forward, his eyes scanning and memorizing every path, every route. Running. This is what he was meant to do, this is where he was supposed to be. Pushing himself, pushing his body, tirelessly seeking the answer, the way out for all of them. _Running._

After an hour of hard and sweaty effort he slowed to a recuperative walk and dug into his bag for food, knowing he had to keep his energy up. He crunched through the apple as he walked, feeling his body start to grumble at the exertion after his extended recess from the task. Remembering the reason for the mandatory healing time abruptly brought back the anger and the shame of the whole experience, and he broke into a defiant sprint once more, determined to prove he was back to peak form. Desperate to prove he could still do what he was tasked to do.

 _Run._

Two and a half grueling hours later, he pulled to a breathless stop at the last dead end; the very end of his section. Giving in to his begging body he squatted with his back against the wall and rested, pulling deeply from the water bottle he'd barely touched. Desperate for fuel, he fished out the brown sack without any particular feeling of hope – the food the runners tended to carry with them was quick, convenient, and usually vastly unsatisfying. Unwrapping the brown paper slowly, his mouth watered at the smell of soft, fresh bread and juicy seasoned pork. He suddenly remembered who was manning the kitchen today.

 _Addy._

Struggling not to simply devour it in huge starving bites, he forced himself to take slow, sensible bites, savoring the flavor that danced across his tongue. It may not be a terribly sophisticated meal but at that moment, cold pork on a lopsided bun was an offering fit for a king. It also brought to mind the man he'd been working hard to ignore all day. And the memory he'd labored to forget all night.

 _Addy_.

Not ready to let himself dwell, uneasy with the turn his thoughts had taken, he hastily swallowed the last bite and pushed to his feet, his body whining all the way. He'd made good time getting here, but he still had to make it back before the gates shut. Relegating himself to a slightly more moderate pace on the way back, he methodically followed the twists and turns back to the glade to rendezvous with the other runners. He demolished the sticky maple bun on the run, the shock of sugar on his tongue exquisite and unexpected, and again he thought of the man.

 _Addy._

Running. With his body crying for a break and his mind guiding him back towards safety, for the first time in (his admittedly short) memory he was torn. As much as he hated the idea of being trapped in the little green prison of the glade, he always carried a healthy dose of fear and a strong sense of dread when mapping the stone warren outside its gates, feeling an undeniable sense of relief when he made it back through the gate. Now, as he skidded to a halt in the grass of the meadow, chest heaving and sweat running down his face, the thought of actually facing the man made him vaguely ill. Bent from the waist, gasping for breath, the pressure of being back in the glade caused a little voice to speak up in the back of his head.

 _Run_.

But he wasn't a little kid who demanded attention, nor a whiny immature brat who acted without thinking. He'd made the choice to leave those feeble traits behind and be a better man. He couldn't run. Not from the glade, not from his friends, not from himself.

Not from Addy.

It was a small glade and, sooner or later, he knew he'd end up talking to or working with the man.

Newt couldn't throw him over, ignore him, avoid him – and he didn't want to. Adrian had teased him and taught him, trusted him and earned his trust in return, had healed him when he'd thought he was broken past repair. He'd become a friend, a tutor, a big brother; the exact relationship blurring into something unique and special and just... _Addy_.

No, he couldn't just abandon Addy.

He took purposeful strides towards the map room when he'd sufficiently recovered, making some hard and fast decisions as he went.

No, he wouldn't run. He would handle things in a calm, reasonable manner. And he would do so by keeping the whole uncomfortable little mess entirely to himself. He was human after all, he reasoned, it wasn't anyone's fault if his body involuntarily reacted to certain things in...personally unsettling ways. And it was no one's business but his own. It was a harmless little thing, not even worth thinking about really. What harm could come of it, if no one knew but him?

Obstinate in his decision, confident that this was the right choice, the tense indecision he'd carried since the night before dissolved at the simplicity of the solution.

 _What could possibly go wrong?_

* * *

Author's note ~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	40. Frustrated

Author's note ~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Obstinate in his decision, confident that this was_ _the right choice, the tense indecision he'd carried since the night before dissolved at the simplicity of the solution._

 _What could possibly go wrong?_

* * *

Newt felt really positive about his plan for dealing with his mild personal epiphany. Settled, finally steady and truly grateful for it, he took his preferred spot in the map room, diligently working as the other runners trickled into the building. For all that he'd found nothing new today his sanguine new outlook about his own issues bled over into the work, and had him optimistic that perhaps a new clue or bit of information was closer than they thought. The heavy metal of the door screeched as it was pulled closed, sealing them all inside.

Shuffling feet and the sharp tang of sweat, coupled with the familiar persistent smell of rust, filled the air as the last few plopped down to work on the next step. It was a distinctive smell found only here, in this odd little metal building that predated their arrival in the glade. An aura of intense concentration fell, the only sound now the scratching of pencil on coarse paper as each sketched the route their feet had followed during the day. He drew the map with painstaking precision, the result of more than a year of careful training and conditioning. His pencil moved as though on autopilot, his eyes seeing phantom images of the twists and turns instead of the yellowed sheet of paper in front of him. Once he'd detailed the last corridor, darkened the final line, he sat back and stretched his back. Knowing better than to disturb the others while they were working, he studied his own sketch, looking for any glaring patterns or discernible differences from the ones he'd made, a hundred times or more before.

All he noticed was a blank four inch square at the bottom of his page, space unneeded by his diagram.

Letting it all circle and stew in his head, hoping something would stand out to him if he let it blur just a little, he picked up his pencil again and started to mindlessly doodle in the unmarked corner of the paper. He often did this if he was finished his cartography early, using the quiet time to let his mind wander in hopes of stumbling across some small spattering of inspiration useful to their perennial quest.

Animals, food and cartoon images showed up more often than not on his finished maps. But he liked drawing faces most of all, especially of the people he knew best. Rudimentary, sketchy and no where near polished, his little caricatures were none the less instantly recognizable to anyone who looked at them. Many a map featured a sarcastic doodle of their own keeper doing or saying something ridiculous, his face usually stretched into an overblown smarmy smile. But it wasn't a goofy image of Minho that ended up staring back at Newt from his page today.

It was Addy.

While a tad concerned that he'd drawn the familiar face without any clear intentions to do so, Newt shrugged the feeling off. Only runners were allowed in here, the map room, the heart of their search operation. No one would see it but him, except maybe the handful of others in his vocation. Where was the harm?

With a sudden mischievous flash, Newt bent closer to the paper and carefully added an oversized poofy hat to the drawing's head, a wooden spoon to his hand, and delicately scratched out an overblown frilly apron to polish it off. Sublimely sure that the man would never lay eyes on it he added a speech bubble and, making the letters as feminine as he could, a humorous quote above the doodle's head. Lost in the moment, wearing a huge smile of delight at the foolishness of the image, he started adding little bows and clips to the hair.

"So what's my catchphrase today, oh artistic one?"

Newt hastily tried to cover the drawing with his arm, but Minho was too quick for him and nipped the sheet of paper away.

"Oh, _call me Mary?!_ " Minho crowed, his whole frame shaking with laughter as he pointed at the cartoon. "Isn't that just _precious!_ I can't wait to see what Mr. _expert-on-absolutely-everything_ thinks about this!"

"Min! You wouldn't!" Newt growled darkly, glaring daggers at his friend. "You **know** no non-runners have access to the maps! You made that bloody rule yourself!"

"Ah yes, but for a masterpiece like **this** ," Minho cackled, his eyes dancing as he gleefully turned the screw. "I may just have to make an exception. Wouldn't he be _**so proud**_ of his little Newtie's _adorable_ little doodle? Wouldn't he want to hang it on his wall?"

Newt plowed his fist into Minho's gut, pulling his punch substantially but putting enough muscle behind it to knock the keeper back a full step as he snatched the map from where it dangled in those taunting fingers.

"You can be such a bloody _shank_ sometimes, you know." He muttered, turning and tucking the map into the trunk designated for that particular section of the maze. Latching it firmly, he was surprised to see that they were alone in the map room. He turned back to Minho, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

"You were off in la-la land when everyone else finished up." Minho explained, punching Newt in the shoulder in a friendly way, making them even. Still wearing that elated grin, he swung an arm around Newt's shoulders and goose stepped him out of the building. "If you'd been much longer, I'd have started chowing down on the maps in desperation; I'm starved! Let's go see what _Mary's_ come up with for supper, hey?"

"Yeah, right, sure. Why don't **you** try calling him Mary to his face, huh? I'd love to see the look on yours when he takes a bloody bite out of you."

"I think I will, Newt m'lad. Y'never know, he might just like it!"

Newt rolled his eyes at the innuendo.

"Aww now, don't be _jealous_." Minho crooned, patting Newt's shoulder in a patronizing way. "It's not my fault that I'm so _deliciously appealing_. Alas! Even if he falls for my _obvious_ charms, he's doomed to have his delicate heart shattered. While I've got no problem with men loving men, my body belongs solely to those of the female persuasion. And I could never give my love to **just one** – I must share it with all! As soon as we get outta here, I'll doubtless have lines of lovely ladies waiting to throw themselves at my feet!"

"Or lined up to throw themselves in front of a train, when they see the size of your head." Newt's pithy remark went unnoticed as Minho waxed poetic about the girls, girls, girls who'd beg for a piece of his time. He ducked out from under his arm, giving his keeper an irritated but affectionate shove, breaking him out of his absurd fantasy and bringing him back to the here and now.

"Food now?"

"Oh shuck yeah. Food now."

* * *

Newt woke abruptly in the middle of the night, his heart thundering and his skin clammy. Despite his muscle aches and pains after a long day of running, he'd dropped like a stone as soon as he curled up in his hammock. Now, with the glade silent around him and the darkness laying like a heavy blanket over everything, he was jerked out of his slumber by the vivid images running through his head. It wasn't a nightmare, though. No, a nightmare would have been easier to shake off.

This was a dream of an entirely different character.

The memory, fresh and new and crystal clear, taken by his imagination and extended, edited, the sights and sounds playing over and over in his head until he gasped his way awake. Embarrassed even with the anonymity granted by the dark, fully awake and achingly aroused, he chewed his lip as he pondered how to handle the result of the powerful dream.

Unable to ignore the tension, he saw no other choice than to take care of it himself. He slid a hand down and palmed his throbbing erection through his boxers, a little huff of air escaping his lips as he made contact. _It wasn't weird_ , he assured himself, clenching his jaw as he freed himself from the restrictive cloth. _The others never appeared to have any problem giving themselves a hand in the dark, why should I feel self-conscious?_ His toes curled into the canvas of the hammock as he started to stroke himself.

 _It's not like they could see anything in the dark, anyway._

It's not like they knew what had gotten him going.

 _It's perfectly natural, just a guy, taking care of an itch._

He'd deal with it, and move on.

* * *

A week later Newt's positive mood had long since gone sour.

 _Every night._ He thought sourly as he jogged back into the glade at the end of another long, sweaty day. _Every. Bloody. Night_.

Every night he'd drop into bed exhausted, dreadfully in need of a good night's sleep. Every night, the torturous dreams would rip him awake, leaving his brain weary and his body begging for release. And every night, he'd try to relieve the persistent urge that plagued him.

He'd yet to be successful.

Before Wes's gang had taken such an invasive interest in him, having a wank had never been a particularly regular event for him. The need to do so was rare, and more often ignored than not. Since the assault had started, even before that screamingly painful night, he just hadn't felt the urge at all. Sometimes, on sleepless nights, he'd wonder if there was something wrong with him. Most of the others had nearly nightly personal ministrations, what was wrong with him that he wasn't remotely interested in doing the same?

Now, just when it seemed his bodily needs had woken up and begun to match up with those of the rest of the guys around him, he found himself unable to finish the deed. He knew what to do; he wasn't a prude, or an idiot. He'd try to take care of it, feel himself get tantalizingly close to completion, and without fail he'd get a sneering image of Wes in his head. The memory of his sour, stale breath, the feeling of cruelly careless hands on his body, the shocking pain of being invaded. His stomach would clench and roll, his skin would go cold and clammy, and he would end up sick, shaky and frustratingly unsatisfied.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

Every day – and agonizing night – that passed left him more cranky and aggravated than the one before, and his temper got shorter with each unsuccessful attempt. His vexation did not go unnoticed.

Minho detained Newt at the map room after the blonde had snapped at another runner over some harmlessly frivolous comment. Once all the others were gone, Minho slammed the door and turned to his friend.

"What the shuck is going on with you, man?" Minho demanded, no trace of his usual joking manner on his stony face. "You snap and snarl at me, at the others, you're broody and _pissy_. You chew at Jack for some eye-rolling remark about making wings and 'flying outta here'. What's going on in that slint head of yours?!"

"I'm _fine_. I'm _doing_ my bloody _job_. What more do you **want?** Defend that idiot Jack if you want, I'm out of here. I'm shuckin' _done_ with this for today." Newt grumbled crossly, moving to push past the keeper and escape from the room. Minho stopped him with a hard hand on his shoulder, refusing to let him pass. Newt's hand balled into a fist and he raised it, wound tight as a drum and ready to brawl. Minho didn't even flinch. Newt just managed to stop his fist a scant few inches from connecting with Minho's angry, confused – and concerned – face.

 _What am I doing?!_

He dropped his arm and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, misery and apology all over his face.

"I'm sorry _. God,_ Min, I'm sorry. That was way out of line."

"What's going on with you?" Minho asked again, the hard demanding tone gone, worry dripping from the words. "If you need a break, I'll rearrange the schedule, give you some time out of the maze. Just tell me what you need. Are you sick?"

"No, I'm not sick. Or" Newt let out a bitter little laugh, no humor in the sound. "Not that I know of."

"Then what is it?" Minho pressed.

Newt hesitated; who could he about this if not Min, one of his oldest friends?

"We've been stuck here for going on _two bloody years_." Newt started carefully. "Thrown together, not knowing who we are or where we came from. Trapped in a little glade, with next to no privacy."

"Yeah. It sucks, I know. We all get that."

"Don't you ever get a little... _.frustrated?_ Have a little trouble dealing with...things...when there's always someone around?"

To his immense credit, Minho didn't laugh as the full realization of what Newt was talking about hit him. He kept his face studiously neutral.

"I did in the beginning." He admitted. "Then I figured, _hey, shuck it, we all gotta do what we gotta do_. I mind mine, you mind yours, he minds his, and we're all good. Otherwise, we all end up edgy and tense and frustrated."

"Yeah." Newt sighed. "We **do.** "

"Look." Minho said, pulling out a reserve of his rarely utilized tact and choosing his words painstakingly. "If you're having difficulties because you can't find a little _privacy_ , I'll be heading over to grab my dinner in a minute." He pulled the rusted metal key for the door out from beneath his shirt, where he always wore it around his neck on a thick string. He never let the thing out of his sight. "This ain't going to be a regular thing, but _this one time_ , I'll trust you to lock the door once you've...taken care of things."

Touched at the offer and the trust in him it showed, Newt shook his head.

"It means a lot that you'd offer, and I'll never forget it. But that's not the problem."

"So what **is** the problem?"

"Well...I can get out the gate, yeah? Run the lengths, take the turns," Newt explained, using the job they both knew so well to try and make it less awkward. "But when I get to the last turn...I can't...I _don't_ make it to the end of the section."

"You don't make it to the end?"

"No. I don't."

"Why not?" Minho pondered, morbidly curious despite the subject matter.

"I don't know! **Shuck,** if I bloody knew, don't you think I'd take that _last bloody corner_ and finish the run?!"

Minho shook his head, fully understanding Newt's recent black mood now.

"No wonder you've been so shuckin' crabby lately."

"Yeah." Newt agreed glumly. "And I have no bloody idea what to do about it. What the shuck is _wrong_ with me?!"

There was a long silence as both considered the uncomfortable situation the blonde found himself in.

"I hate to say it," Minho said slowly, "but I think you have to talk to – "

" **No way in hell** am I going to Jeff about this." Newt stated emphatically, shuddering at the very idea. "He may be a med jack, but no way am I talking to him about my...problem."

"Actually, I was going to suggest you talk to the only person here who might actually know something about this; someone who has more experience in, well, everything than us shanks do."

"Who?" Newt asked in knee jerk reaction, his stomach sinking as he realized the answer a second before Minho could reply.

"Adrian. You should talk to Adrian about it, see if he knows of something that could help you."

* * *

Adrian had put the word out during supper – unless someone was missing a limb or aliens were invading, he was taking the night off and didn't want to be disturbed. He figured that he'd earned one blessed evening free of responsibilities or worries. The average age in the glade was fifteen or so, after all. He was certain that they could make do for one evening without a babysitter. He was going to wallow in his own company, with his music, his plant book, and no human distractions. Standing outside and indulging in one of his carefully rationed cigarettes, alone but not lonely, he was content with his own company.

Until he heard the tell-tale rustle in the bushes, and felt the inevitable prickle on the back of his neck.

So much for his sought after solitude.

"What do you want, kid?"

Newt stepped out from the treeline, his eyes nervously scanning back and forth.

"Can I..can I talk to you about...something?"

Despite his fervent desire to have a night apart from the drain of constantly dealing with teenages, he couldn't bring himself to turn Newt away. The kid looked so lost, so vulnerable; like a rabbit poised to bolt if he moved the wrong way.

"Of course." Adrian sighed, waving him over in resigned invitation. "What's on your mind?"

Newt leaned up against the wall of the cabin beside the man and stared off into the distance, blatently not looking at him. Adrian waited for the boy to find his tongue.

"Do you ever have...really vivid dreams? The kind where you wake up and you feel like it's actually happening?" Newt asked slowly, trying to figure out how to explain his issue without dying of mortification.

"All the time." Adrian replied, mirroring Newt's pose and looking up at the vast pastel sky. "Sometimes they're a comfort, a reminder of good times long since gone. Sometimes they're more intense, and I wake up sweaty and shaken, confused for a minute as to where I am, stuck somewhere between _then_ and _now_ , you know?"

"Yeah, I think I do." Newt said gloomily.

A long pregnant pause, this time broken by the man.

"Nightmares and flashbacks – as gut wrenching as they are – are to be expected after the ugliness you faced." He spoke in a calm, neutral tone. "There's no shame in them. And they do, eventually, ease off. For now, if you're having problems sleeping – "

"It's not that." Newt interrupted, "It's not..I mean, _yeah_ , I'm having problems sleeping because of the dreams, but they're not nightmares. They're just so...vivid."

"What are you dreaming about?" Adrian asked, curious now.

"Well they...in them I... _that is to say_...I don't..." Newt sputtered, the bit of profile Adrian could see from the corner of his eye turning a blazing red. Adrian bit the tip of his tongue to stop the laughter from escaping as he connected the dots.

" _Ahhhhhh_. Okay. They're _those_ kind of dreams. Well, there's nothing I can do about that. It's perfectly healthy to have those dreams. If the wake you up and you notice you're...all stirred up, we'll say, you ignore it or take care of it, and go back to sleep."

"I try!" Newt cried defensively. "I **try** , and I just can't.. _._ it _won't_... I don't..."

Adrian mirth instantly died, and sympathy welled up.

"I see. I do. I understand how hard this is for you." Adrian said gently, no judgment or mockery in his voice."It'll be okay, kid. We'll see what we can do to fix that for you. But, to be able to help you, I have to ask a couple of... _personal_ questions. Okay?"

Newt nodded miserably, still looking away.

"At night, you're waking up and finding yourself...stimulated, correct?"

Newt nodded.

"You try to manually relieve yourself, and are unable to find release."

Head hanging low, another nod.

"Are you physically unable to finish? That is, do you go limp before you can finish?"

A jerky little head shake.

"Do you work, and work, and work, and just never get to the end?"

A more vigorous head shake.

Adrian thought for a moment, flipping through stored knowledge in his head before continuing.

"Do you start off okay, get close, and for whatever reason, can't _bring yourself_ to finish the job?"

" _ **Yes!**_ " Newt exploded, whirling to face the man, frustrated anger mixing with shame to beat out embarrassment. "Yes, what a _bloody laugh_ , I can't finish the job! I get close, so close, and every time, _every bloody time_ , I see his face in my head! _Sneering_ at me, _laughing_ at me while he..." His voice died down to a wounded keening. "And suddenly, I'm stuck, **frozen** , sick to my stomach. I try, I try to make myself just grit my teeth and push through it – but all I see is _his face_."

Tunneling his hands into his hair, the distraught boy squeezed his head as if he could force the offensive images out.

"What's wrong with me? It's over, done, in the past! Why can't I...what the shuck is _wrong_ with me?!"

"There's nothing wrong with you." Adrian stated matter-of-factually, knowing the tone would stop the despair cold. "You suffered an atrocity, a grotesque parody of sex that damaged you physically and mentally. This kind of reaction to sexual trauma is actually really common."

"But what do I **do** about it?" Newt snapped, at the end of his rope.

"Well, this actually has a really simple solution." Adrian explained. "Who is the glader that you trust the most? No qualms, no doubts, if you had to pick _one_ that would never let you down, someone you feel _safe_ with, who would it be?"

" _Why?_ " Newt asked suspiciously, not seeing the connection.

"Because you're going to go to that guy and ask for a hand. Literally."

Adrian kept talking as Newt choked out horrified denials.

"You can't clinch the deal yourself, so you need someone who can. Someone who'll do as you ask, and **not** stop when you yourself clutch. Someone who will keep at it until you get off."

Newt was rendered speechless by the words.

"Your body _needs_ release. You _can't_ provide it. Engaging in a positive sexual experience with a benign party, someone you know and trust, should hopefully be enough to unblock the part of you that now equates sex with pain and horror. Once you're 'unblocked', so to speak, you can go back to taking care of things yourself. I know it will be awkward to ask, but if they care about you, if they're a good friend, they'll be willing to close their eyes and help you out, just this once. Good friends stick with you, do what they've gotta do to have your back."

"You..."

Newt paced away, tuning his back on the man and scrunching his eyes shut. Logically, it made sense. And there was someone he knew he could trust with his body, if he had to. Now he had to screw up the courage to ask.

"I realize that this isn't what you wanted to hear, but given the circumstances it really is the simplest, easiest, and best solution to your difficulties. Swallow your pride, push back your embarrassment, and ask a friend to lend a hand."

"Addy..."

"Yeah?"

The trees rustled with a restless gust of breeze, lifting their hair and sending it floating in the warm evening air. Newt took a steadying breath and turned, looking directly into Adrian's misty green eyes.

"Would you...would you lend me a hand?"

Adrian held out his hands in a placating manner, barely managing to keep his face blank and calm.

 _Why me? For_ _ **God's sake**_ _, why me?!_

"I was thinking more of one of your glader friends, someone you've known longer, someone you trust..."

"I'm asking _you_." Newt's face showed his nerves, his self-consciousness. "I trust _you_. You'd never...you _wouldn't_...hurt me. You make me feel... _safe._ "

"I know, and I'm touched that you'd trust me. It's just, I'm considerably _olde_ r than you are, and – "

"You helped me before. You fixed me when I was bashed up, bleeding. You gave me courage. And I know you'll never let me down. It's just who you are. I need...I need your help now. You can help me fix this. _Please,_ Addy." He added shyly, his eyes silently begging. He looked about twelve years old.

Adrian's arguments and denials withered on his tongue; they'd fall on deaf ears anyhow. Newt had made up his mind, and made his choice. And he himself had advised the kid to seek help from another, AND that a true friend wouldn't deny him. He'd just assumed – hoped – that it would be anyone but him.

 _Bleeding hearts of the world unite!_ _ **WHY ME?!**_

"Alright." He cleared his throat as the word croaked out, and tried again. "Alright, fine. Yes, I'll lend you a hand."

" _Thank you_." Newt whispered, looking away, blushing a little at the sappiness of his words. Adrian resisted the urge to make a pithy remark.

 _Well, that's the first time someone's thanked me_ _ **before**_ _sex._

Wanting to get it over with, he laid a firm hand on Newt's shoulder and steered the boy toward the middle of the grassy area, pointing a finger and telling him to sit down. Newt's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"...out here? I mean, the house is right there, wouldn't it be be-better to..."

"Out here is best." Adrian affirmed, sitting down beside and slightly forward of Newt, facing the opposite direction. They were hip to hip, his right shoulder and inch or two in front of the boy's. "Okay, here's how this is going to go. This is a _one time deal_ , to help you get through your physical block. I won't be doing a repeat performance. When it's done, _it's done_. Get it? And you need to look at me, right now, and tell me what you want. If you trust me, if you want the help, you tell me **right now** not to stop. If you're _**not absolutely sure**_ , we put the whole thing aside for today. Understand?"

"I need this. I'm asking for your help." Newt said clearly, swallowing audibly when his voice broke. "I'm sure. Don't stop until I ...until I'm done."

"So be it."

Adrian laid his right arm across Newt's lower belly, feeling the boy jolt at the action. He left it there for a few minutes, feeling the nervous tension in the thin body. When he judged the boy relaxed enough, Adrian slowly but firmly slid his hand back across the narrow abdomen until his palm rested on the crotch of Newt's pants. Newt bit his lip and caught his breath at the contact, his body rapidly responding to the touch as the man began to massage him through his clothes.

"Breathe, kid."

Newt drew in a shaky breath obediently, which turned into an involuntary gasp as the fly of his zipper slid down. The fingers of his left hand dug into the soft grass behind him and he fumbled out with the other, managing to clench his fingers onto the back of Adrian's right shoulder as the man freed him from the cloth.

Adrian briskly worked Newt with quick sure strokes, and the boy dissolved into unintelligible moans and gasps.

"Gah... _ah!_ Ye – uh! _Ah!_ "

Newt's nails dug into the man's skin as he was relentlessly driven towards the edge. He felt the heat pooling, spreading as he mindlessly thrust into the wide, calloused hand.

Suddenly that sneering grin flashed into his mind.

"W-wait! Wait, _I c-can't_...I don't... _s-stop_...d-don't..."

"Not this time." Adrian said firmly, his hand moving even faster now. Newt was leaning on him fully now, his words sobbing out in a mix of fear and desperation.

"I can't, _I can't,_ _**I c-can't!**_ "

Adrian shifted his grip, running his thumb directly up the thick vein on the underside of Newt's sex. The boy screamed wordlessly as he came, bucking under the man's steady arm as Adrian felt warm fluid hit his knuckles. His hand stilled and he waited, holding the semi-rigid member in his hand while Newt struggled to gulp in air.

Then he started pumping again.

Letting out a guttural cry, Newt curled into the man as he found himself being driven upwards again, his mind totally blank, his body feeling like one huge exposed nerve. His entire focus was on Adrian's hand and his erection as he felt the unspeakable tension building once again inside him. He was open mouth panting against the soft cloth of Adrian's shoulder when the man spoke.

"Put your hand on mine."

Newt lifted his left hand weakly, fumbling for a second before placing it over the man's rapidly moving one. Adrian reversed their grip in a flash, trapping the boy's hand against his own flesh and guiding its movements, helping Newt to help himself. The man was as good as his word; he didn't stop until Newt was undeniably done.

It didn't take very long, in less than two dozen more strokes, Newt moaned and cried out as he climaxed a second time.

"Ah, yes..y- _yes_...A-Addy, I **need**...I'm... _yes_... _ **Yes! AhhhhH!**_ "

Shattered, spent, completely undone, Adrian's firm arm was the only thing keeping Newt from face planting into the grass. Adrian gently held him upright while he shook and trembled from the force of the event, and Newt turned his face into the strong, sturdy curve of Adrian's shoulder. Closing his eyes, he felt a warmth he'd never felt before.

Adrian would never let him down.

* * *

Author's note~

While the last few chapters have been quite sexual in nature, this story _isn't actually_ smut-centric; that's just the current arc we're in at the moment. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	41. Level Best

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _Newt turned his face into the strong, sturdy curve of Adrian's shoulder. Closing his eyes, he felt a warmth he'd never felt before._

 _Adrian would never let him down._

* * *

Adrian supported the boy through the aftershocks, listening to his breathing slowly start to even out and feeling his shuddering muscles begin to calm. He could feel the warmth of Newt's face pressed against his shoulder and the tight fingers still clutching his arm, and silently allowed the boy the luxury of snuggling in for a few moments. He was contemplating what to do next when the boy turned his head a fraction, looking at him shyly from beneath heavy lidded eyes.

"Tha-thank you." he murmured, his face flushed from the event. "Thank you Addy."

"You asked me for help, kid." Adrian reminded, aiming for a casual tone as Newt shifted slightly, dropping his grip. "I'd say you've been, ah, successfully helped. You shouldn't – hopefully – have the same problem next time you need to take care of business. Now, if you're all sorted – "

"You...you're excited." Newt pointed out, having spotted the distinct bulge in the man's lap. He slowly moved a lightly shaking hand towards the lump, hesitant but curious. "You helped me. Can I...do you want me to...?"

Adrian grabbed the reaching appendage in his own free hand, stopping Newt cold before he could make contact.

"This _isn't_ tit for tat." Adrian reminded, his voice coming out a little gruffer than intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. "While I appreciate the offer, I _don't need_ any particular assistance in that area, thanks." A little warning bell went off in his head when he couldn't tell if the boy looked relieved or disappointed at the refusal. Choosing to believe it was the first, he moved Newt's hand firmly away before easing away from the boy, fishing a faded bandana out of the pocket of his jeans and offering it. Newt swayed a little but stayed upright on his own, taking the cloth with a little confused frown on his face.

"Clean yourself up, sort yourself out. Then, I think, we'd better call it a night. I'm bagged, and I'm sure you are too."

"Can I...stay here tonight?" Newt asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up a little. Adrian bit back a pained sigh.

"...yeah, sure, no problem. **One** condition on that, though."

"What?" Newt asked eagerly, fist clenched on the cloth.

"If you have one of those dreams tonight, or feel the need to...take things in hand, we'll say, I'd ask that you take a little walk in the woods and handle things with a bit of discretion. I don't want the house smelling like sex." He finished bluntly, his expression firm. Newt flushed and his eyes cut away; not trusting himself to answer, he nodded in affirmation. Adrian grunted, relieved.

"I'm going to wash up myself. I'll be back."

The man stood and quickly disappeared around the back of the cabin, towards the water barrel. Newt took the opportunity to do as he was instructed, cleaning his tender flesh with the soft fabric, tucking himself away neat and tidy and stuffing the bandana into his pocket. He ran his hands through the grass on either side, rubbing off any lingering traces, and considered the job done. Wrung out, he laid back in the soft cradle of the meadow and let his eyes drift closed, watching the sky as he waited for the man to return. He was asleep in less than five minutes.

Adrian stood with his hands braced on the heavy wooden lid of the water barrel, taking deep cleansing breaths as he focused on calming his body down. While he could have easily taken a walk in the woods himself – the kid wasn't going anywhere for a while – he refused to act on the strong physical desire brought on from assisting Newt. While he could admit that (in a moment of weakness and caught by surprise) he had been fleetingly tempted by the kid's unexpected offer, the fact remained that Newt was just that. A kid. While he hated himself a little for doing what he'd just done, he'd sworn to whatever he could to help the gladers, and that was a promise he would not renege on.

No matter how much it pained him, personally.

He ran his hands vigorously through the long grass before washing with the cold, clear water, stripping off his shirt and rinsing his face and upper body as well. When he felt he had himself firmly under control again he went back to the spot where he'd left the boy, finding him deeply and peacefully asleep.

 _I_ _ **could**_ _just leave him where he is_ , Adrian considered. _The temperature here is nice and mild, and I know there's nothing out there that poses any real threat. And then I don't have to worry about him sleeping on the couch. Or wandering_ _ **off**_ _the couch._

Rolling his eyes at himself, he crouched down and gently picked the boy up off the ground without waking him, lifting him with with the ease of experience. Adrian puffed out his cheeks a little at the effort; Newt was a fairly tall boy, who had spent a good portion of his time in the glade running the maze and doing manual labour, building muscle. He certainly wasn't a feather weight.

Adrian goose stepped into the house and towards the couch, thankful the distance was short. Easing Newt down onto the cushions was easy – disentangling the boy from himself proved a tad more difficult. Newt automatically and instinctively tried to cling to the warmth, his brow furrowing as Adrian pried his sleeping arms away. He quickly settled back down when Adrian backed away, though, apparently content to latch on to one of the pillows from the couch and snuggle it instead. Adrian covered the boy with a blanket before standing and looking down at him, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.

 _What the hell am I going to do about you, kid?_

Letting it all simmer for the moment, he decided he might as well make use of the current quiet to try and salvage what he could of his evening. Lighting a couple of candles, he made himself comfortable at the table with his book, his pencils, and his music. Putting it out of his head, for now, he shifted his focus to the paper under his hands, mentally musing about the improvements made in the kitchen in the last week or so.

For all the blustery attitude Frypan projected, he was an apt and eager student when it came to the preparation and creation of food. Despite being unable to work he had still spent every day in the kitchen, picking up every recipe Adrian could throw at him, often with only recitation . He studied the methods the man demonstrated with a laser focus, and would no doubt have them perfected within days of being back to full duty. Probably sooner, Adrian admitted to himself, begrudgingly admiring the strapping boy's determination to return to the task he loved. The rest of the crew took his teachings to heart as well, quickly mastering the techniques to make butter and cheese, hand throw pasta and breads, even cure meats. Peter, possessing a well defined sweet tooth, had campaigned to be put in charge of the harvest and preparation of maple syrup, and Dave had fallen in love with the process of taking a bucket of fresh milk and turning it into a heaping helping of soft creamy cheese.

He fully expected their usual menu to be changing considerably in the near future, and he was confident that it would be for the better. With Frypan comfortably back in charge of the meals, Adrian could turn his focus to other matters.

His headphones in, he moved his lips to the music as he detailed a drawing of a broad leafed sugar maple. The final notes of one song faded away as he added in the side notes and another began, softly crooning in his ear.

.

 _Is this the real life?_

 _Is this just fantasy?_

 _Caught in a landslide_

 _No escape from reality_

 _._

His fingers tightened on his pencil. He thought about the man who'd loved this song, this music; the one who'd passed that love on to him so eagerly.

.

 _Open your eyes_

 _Look up to the skies and see_

 _I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy_

 _Because I'm easy come, easy go_

 _A little high, little low_

 _Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me_

 _To me_

 _._

He remembered the feeling of a strong, narrow hand guiding his. Patiently showing him how to detail, teaching him perspective, attention to detail, the importance of accuracy.

.

 _Mama, just killed a man_

 _Put a gun against his head_

 _Pulled my trigger, now he's dead_

 _Mama, life had just begun_

 _But now I've gone and thrown it all away_

 _._

"What does it mean?" He'd asked, the first time he'd heard this song, all of five years old. "Why did he do it?" An indulgent smile, the bright fluorescent light in the kitchen sparkling off the old fashioned rectangular lenses of the glasses perched on his nose.

.

 _Mama, oooooh oh_

 _Didn't mean to make you cry_

 _If I'm not back again this time tomorrow_

 _Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters_

 _._

"And **that!** " Indignant, childishly outraged by callousness of the singer. "How could he just leave his Mama? Doesn't he **care?** " A wide palm rested on the top of his head, gently ruffling his wildly disordered hair. He liked these times best of all, when it was just the two of them for a little while. He could hear the rest of the family in the other room, laughing and bickering about something. But for now, it was just them. "Why did he do it, Dad?"

.

 _Too late, my time has come_

 _Sends shivers down my spine_

 _Body's aching all the time_

 _Goodbye everybody I've got to go_

 _Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth_

 _._

"It's just a song, my boy." His father explained. "A story set to words, a work of fiction."

"He shouldn't have done it. It's **bad** to kill people. He hurt _everyone_ , and should be punished for it." He asserted righteously, pushing his drawing away in anger. His father shook his head, amused.

"And if he was defending his home, his family, his life? If he felt he had no choice? If he thought the loss of one life would preserve the lives of many? Does he still deserve to be punished?"

"I...I don't know. I didn't think about that." He looked down at the scarred old wood of the kitchen table, confused, his resent towards the made-up man fizzling as he tried to reason his way to an answer. "Was he?"

"I don't know." His father said gently, making his point. "And neither do you. One cannot judge the actions and choices of another until one has walked in _their_ shoes, seen the world through _their_ eyes."

"Well, if he **did** do it for good things, to protect people, he wouldn't feel so bad about it, would he? If he was a **good** person, he wouldn't."

His father's eyes were sad, now.

"Adrian, even good people do bad things. Sometimes _horrible_ things. They may believe they're acting for the greater good – and it may even be true. But some of the most horrific things the world has ever seen have been born from good intentions. And every hard choice made, every evil a good person commits, weighs on them. Good guys take lives, too, and every life taken hangs on _them_ for the rest of their lives. It takes a terrible toll on them. You see, our actions, our lives," his father tried to explain, "are a series of cheques and balances. Regardless of the reason _behind_ the action, some debts become so large that there's only _one way_ to settle them. You'll understand what I mean, one day."

And he did. His chest burning from the memory, he pulled the headphones out and shook his head to clear it. He absolutely did. The last few words of the song stubbornly played out in his memory.

.

 _Nothing really matters_

 _Anyone can see_

 _Nothing really matters_

 _Nothing really matters to me_

 _._

 _Anyway the wind blows_

 _._

 _The problem is,_ Adrian thought bitterly _, there are a number of things that_ _ **do**_ _matter to me. They matter a great deal._

Suffice to say, it was a very long night.

* * *

Newt was feeling like an entirely new man. Refreshed, rested and relaxed, he hid his wide happy grin in the cushions of the couch as he basked in his warm, comfy cocoon. Adrian must have brought him in and covered him up after he fell asleep outside. He felt a little glow deep in his chest at the thought. Energized and unable to keep still any longer he bounded up and, noting the empty bed in the corner, bounced out into the misty pre-morning light. The birds had started chittering and everything felt so bright and fresh. He looked around for the man.

"You're looking awfully chipper this morning."

Newt spotted him emerging from the woods, a bundle of sticks and branches under his arm.

"I am." Newt replied smugly. "Might've had something to do with sleeping like the dead. Or, _y'know,_ blowing off some steam last night. Probably both."

"Probably." Adrian said dryly. "Well, _whatever_ the case, it's nice to see you back to normal. Are you running today?"

"Yeah, will be. Right after I eat Frypan out of house and home." Newt answered enthusiastically, sliding a sideways glance toward the man. "Any plans tonight, or can I come by and hang out after dinner? I know I conked last night, and wasn't exactly the best of company."

"I've got a meet set up with a couple of the others; we'll be hip deep in a project. Maybe another time." Adrian stated smoothly. The boy shrugged his understanding, the fleeting look of disappointment on his face quickly replaced by a cheeky grin.

"I guess I'll see you at dinner then, Addy."

Newt jogged out of the clearing merrily, ready and eager to face the day.

Adrian closed his eyes and sighed in relief; Newt's interaction with him that morning hadn't been any different than on any other morning. With a little luck, they could maintain their easy friendship without last night appreciably changing things.

* * *

Unfortunately, Adrian had run out of luck. Whereas Newt had been perfectly content to only periodically spend time with the man before, now he attached himself to Adrian like a bur.

Other than that, the next week passed by in a fairly uneventful manner. Adrian successfully organized another back-to-back two night set of female entertainment for the gladers, to a wonderfully roaring reception. Before the girls slipped away into the woods on those nights, Althea had announced that a special event would be happening in the near future – a game of luck and skill with high stakes and even higher rewards. It left the gladers in a state of eager anticipation and nervous excitement. Also in the plans was another bonfire party, schedules and ideas being tossed back and forth between Adrian, Alby, Frypan, and (oddly enough) Gally. Adrian worked tirelessly with them all, his girls, the leader, the cook who was slowly warming up to him, and the hard headed builder. He crammed in practice sessions with the three sloppers he'd used for back up music during the first bonfire.

Even with such a full plate the man found it increasingly difficult to avoid the persistent company of the blonde runner. Newt dogged him at meals, hung around the planning meetings whenever he wasn't in the maze, lingered at the practice sessions. He asked every day to come by and hang out at Adrian's place during the evening but the man had been able to put him off so far, reminding the boy that he was working on a number of projects and was pinched for time. The boy's tenacity never faltered though, and Adrian was having a difficult time deciding exactly how to handle his newly acquired and cheerfully determined sidekick.

 _It's like having a blonde, British shadow._ Adrian thought to himself as he escaped for a few minutes to empty his bladder. _This attachment to me has gotten out of hand – I need to do_ _ **something**_ _about it. I had hoped that he'd back off on his own, given a little time and a lack of encouragement._ Unfortunately, the more Adrian put him off, the more adamant the boy seemed to get, and Adrian knew an uncomfortable conversation was on the close horizon.

Newt's newfound habits hadn't gone unnoticed, either. Minho, in particular, was ruthless in his teasing. Alby, the other runners, and even Jeff got in on it too, making semi-crude jokes and pestering Newt about 'what a good pet he was being!'. Newt just smiled and laughed along, not responding to the harmless mocking, so relieved to be passed his difficulties that he took the ribbing with flawless good grace. Though he still had dreams waking him periodically, and an occasional moment of nerves that gripped him during dealing with the ensuing effects, at least he wasn't ending up tense and frustrated anymore. Every morning since the resolution of his problem he'd rolled out of bed with a clear head and hit his day with a spring in his step. He was looking forward to the bonfire celebration, hoping to actually get some time to hang out with Adrian without work weighing him down. The man was looking more and more tired every time Newt saw him.

 _He's working too hard, stretching himself too thin_ , Newt thought as he trotted back into the glade at the end of another day of running. _He'll burn himself out if he doesn't take a break. Maybe I should steal a jar or two of Gally's secret recipe and stop by his place tonight. He'll probably be working, but maybe I can convince him to take one evening off. No, wait, bugger it, he's got that thing with Alby and the builders at the council hall tonight, probably won't head home 'til late._

Newt shook his head as he mindlessly drew out his route from the day, his focus split between the familiar task and thoughts of the man. When he'd finished his map, he began one of his doodles in the margin. Every map since the evening Adrian had helped him now sported a little sketch of the man; silly and funny at first, they were getting more and more detailed every day. He drew in the eyes and eyebrows, trying for a warmly smiling expression, and thought of the man.

 _The bonfire's in three days. If nothing else, maybe I can get him to relax a little after that's done and wrapped up_.

Caught up, he looked down at the face on his page and felt a goofy little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

As the sky turned violet and night started to fall, the gladers gobbled their way through their pre-bonfire feast. There were grunts and groans of satisfaction, though none was as vocal – or gluttonous – as Gally. Yeasty, crispy bread, thick tomato sauce, generous amounts of meat meat, long strings of hot melted cheese. Working with Frypan and teaching the other cooks as he went, Adrian had walked the cooks through building a mouth watering batch of home made pizza and the gladers were in ecstasy. Slice after slice of the unexpected delicacy disappeared as the boys gorged on a treat they never thought they'd see in their current captivity. When the last boy had finally been sated – for now – and the stars began to blink on, Alby stood in front of their sacrificial effigy and started to speak. His speech, similar to the one he'd delivered so passionately at the first bonfire, aroused the boys to rebellious shouts and cheers just as it had before, and ended with the leader defiantly lighting the crude wooden figure on fire. As the boys roared, he stepped aside and gave the floor to Adrian and his handful of music makers. The noise fell to a hush as everyone leaned forward in anticipation, holding their breaths. Waiting.

"Whether it be at fifteen or a hundred and fifteen, every man someday comes to the end of his road." Adrian intoned soberly, looking into the eyes of the gathered gladers. "And every journey is unique. For you...for us...someone has deliberately dropped us in the middle of a deadly maze, left us with **nothing** but our _wits_ and our _guts_ to get us through, to find _our_ path. Do we curl into a ball and whimper? Do we hide in our beds and drown ourselves in fear, nod our heads meekly and do nothing, hoping the slintheads who stuck us here will show us ounce of mercy? Or do we **stand** and **fight?** "

The answering screams of the gladers left no doubt as to their thoughts on the matter.

"We stand and fight; tonight, tomorrow, for as long as it takes, we fight. We'll get to the final showdown. And wherever my path takes me from there, I'll die on my feet before I ever let them force me to my knees." Another roar of approval from the gladers. "If you have to go out, don't make it easy on the bastards. Go out fighting! If I have to go, I'll go out...in a blaze of glory." His words took on a distinctly challenging tone at the end of his statement, and Newt felt a prickle of unease across the back of his neck. Before he could figure out why, Adrian began to pluck the strings of the same bucket instrument he'd used during the last bonfire. On cue, the two drummers started beating out a slow, simple rhythm, and the third clanked a large metal spoon against an empty cooking pot on every third beat. The high pitch of the strings wove through the beats, building a sense of anticipation before the music suddenly faded to almost nothing, and Adrian added the words.

.

 _I wake up in the mornin'_

 _And I raise my weary head_

 _I got an old coat for a pillow_

 _And the earth was last night's bed_

 _I don't know where I'm goin'_

 _Only God knows where I've been_

 _I'm a devil on the run_

 _A six gun lover_

 _A candle in the wind, yeah_

 _._

 _You're brought into this world_

 _But they say you're born in sin_

 _Well at least they've given me something_

 _I didn't have to steal or have to win_

 _Well, they tell me that I'm wanted_

 _Yeah I'm a wanted man_

 _I'm colt in your stable_

 _I'm what Cain was to Abel_

 _Mister catch me if you can_

 _._

The gladers started swaying to the music, watching the show intently. Newt's whole focus was on the man as he moved passed the front row of boys, pointing to one whenever the lyrics demanded it. Then he moved his fingers rapidly over the strings, and the drums thundered back to the forefront as he belted out the chorus.

.

 _I'm goin' down_

 _In a blaze of glory_

 _Take me now but know the truth_

 _I'm goin' down_

 _In a blaze of glory_

 _Lord I never drew first_

 _But I drew first blood_

 _I'm no one's son_

 _Call me young gun_

 _._

 _You ask about my conscience_

 _And I offer you my soul_

 _You ask if I'll grow to be a wise man_

 _Well I ask if I'll grow old_

 _You ask me if I known love_

 _And what it's like to sing songs in the rain?_

 _Well, I've seen love come_

 _I've seen it shot down_

 _I've seen it die in vain_

 _._

All the gladers felt a pang at the emotion Adrian packed into the lyrics.

.

 _Shot down_

 _In a blaze of glory_

 _Take me now but know the truth_

 _But I'm going down_

 _In a blaze of glory_

 _Lord, I never drew first_

 _But I drew first blood_

 _I'm a devil's son_

 _Call me young gun_

 _Yeah_

 _._

The music softened again, and Adrian laid a thumping hand over his heart as his voice flowed over the spellbound audience like a silky blanket.

.

 _Each night I go to bed_

 _I pray the Lord my soul to keep_

 _No, I ain't lookin' for forgiveness_

 _But before I'm six foot deep_

 _Lord, I got to ask a favor_

 _And I'll hope you'll understand_

 _'Cause I've lived life to the fullest_

 _Let this boy die like a man_

 _Starin' down the bullet_

 _Let me make my final stand_

 _._

The nameless anxiety crept back into Newt and he shuddered, a cold finger of fear trickling down his back.

.

 _Shot down_

 _In a blaze of glory_

 _Take me now but know the truth_

 _I'm going down_

 _In a blaze of glory_

 _Lord, I never drew first_

 _But, I drew first blood_

 _I'm no one's son_

 _Call me young gun_

 _I'm the young gun_

 _Young gun_

 _._

The noise of the other boys around him, the beating of the drums, it faded to a distant buzzing in Newt's ears as he stared at the man, standing so proudly in front of the fire. _Amazing_ , he thought in wonder, _Addy, you're bloody amazing_. Newt felt a pull, an almost physical tug in his gut that he'd never felt before; a desire to reach out and touch the man. Watching him, hearing his words, Newt abruptly understood something that had been on the periphery of his thoughts all week. Friend, tutor, brother. Newt swallowed dryly as another word joined the others he used to define the man and he suddenly realized what that foreign feeling was, and what it meant.

Addy. He wanted Addy.

Flustered, unsettled, he melted back into the crowd and lost himself in the mass of now dancing boys to give himself a moment to think. By the time he rejoined the others most had either scattered to smaller packs for conversation or gathered around the wrestling ring to watch the competitions, making it easy for him to reappear without anyone noticing.

* * *

After an obligatory turn in the ring against Gally, in which Adrian dutifully put in a modest effort until the match was finally called a draw, the man was content to sit at the edge of the circle of light thrown by the bonfire and work on getting reasonably drunk. The keeper of the builders had bartered a goodly amount of his stock of alcohol for the man's promise at a rematch, and Adrian wasn't going to let it go to waste. Alby sat beside him, keeping him company and nursing a jar of his own as they chatted back and forth. Alby might not remember his past or his origins, but his memories since coming to the glade were crystal clear and he was ready to learn more about the strange man who'd been sent to live with them.

"So, is this enough booze for you?" Alby inquired archly.

"For me to do... _what_ , exactly?" Adrian deadpanned.

"I believe that you told me, not all that long ago, when I asked about your past, that it might be a relief to sit down and tell me about it, **if** you'd had enough booze. D'you think this is enough?"

Adrian rolled his eyes, emptying his third jar and reaching for a fourth, puffing on a cigarette.

"I guess it could be. Not that my personal history is going to help you much, but your call. What do you want to know?"

"Anything. _Everything_." Alby amended, dead set on better understanding the interesting – and dangerous – man. "Where did you come from? What made you so...able to...do the things you do?"

Adrian chuckled mirthlessly, gesturing with the jar of amber liquid.

"The night's too short for twenty years worth of stories, but I'll give you the abridged version if it'll quench your **burning** curiosity."

Alby nodded seriously, shifting into a more comfortable position, listening closely.

"My parents were both scientists. I, with my three siblings, grew up in Europe. When I was eight, there was a...catastrophic event that...destroyed most of the country around us." Adrian chose and edited his words carefully, knowing how dangerous it could be to try and give the boy more information than was absolutely necessary for his tale. "My family survived, tucked out of harm's way at the facility that employed both of my parents. Just over a year later, we lost my mother to a sudden sickness. That's when things started to get real ugly, real quick." Adrian's face was stony in the shadows thrown by the flickering light.

"People panicked when the initial damage hit, making travel too dangerous to consider. By the time my mother died, they were absolutely savage. We tried to leave, get to a better place, but...we ran in to a group of nasty characters. They ripped my father apart in front of us." Adrian said, the words cold and matter-of-fact.. "And would have gleefully done the same to the rest of us, had my older sister not been carrying one of my father's bags of weapons. She gave my brother and I each a pistol, and loaded a shotgun herself. We didn't know how to aim, but they were close enough by then that it didn't really matter. We took up arms, and we used them. To save our lives, to protect the youngest of us, _we used them_. I was nine years old the first time I killed a man. _Is that what you wanted to know?_ " Adrian asked quietly before draining half a jar of alcohol in one long swallow.

Alby shifted away, just a little. Adrian continued dispassionately.

"We were alone. For _six long months_ , we were **alone**. We eventually managed to find a group of people who hadn't turned violent and cruel. With them we were safe. We started working with them, looking for others, searching for a way to make things, if not the way they were before at the very least better than they were now. I've always had an _amazing_ memory, so it was natural for me to jump into research, look for the answers to today in the knowledge left from the past. As I got older and stronger, I started searching for information farther and farther away, scouring every place I could think of for some scrap that could help us. My travels took me to treacherous places, often brought me into contact with the worst of those feral people. I was always lucky enough to get out again. I've seen atrocities that would leave you screaming yourself awake _every night_ , for the rest of your life. And I've done horrific things, unspeakable things, to ensure that I could walk away and live to search another day. Then, half a year ago, I got in over my head and my luck finally ran out." He toasted the leader with the empty glass and an empty, bitter smile. "And here I am."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the man lost in dark memories, the boy trying to absorb the information. Alby wanted to ask, wanted to know more, but he wasn't without empathy. He could see the toll this conversation was having on the man and wisely chose to change the subject, resolving himself to asking for more information at a later time. It's not like either one of them were going anywhere soon.

"Since you know _so much_ ," Alby said, trying for innocent and failing intentionally. _"Any_ chance you can give me a heads up about the upcoming challenge your lady friend issued us the other night?"

Adrian looked at him for a second, his brain needing the time to change gears. He snorted, nudging Alby's shoulder with his own.

"Why, feeling a little competitive are we?"

"I'd just rather go in knowing what to expect. Like, what's the payoff? The **prize** at the end?"

"If **she** didn't tell you, I guess you'll just have to wait and see, like _everyone else._ "

" _Come on_ , you've got to know something." Alby pressed, half out of his desire to lighten the mood, half in earnest interest.

Adrian slung an arm around Alby's shoulders, giving his arm a patronizing pat.

"Patience is a virtue, my young friend. _All_ good things to those who _wait_."

"But I **don't want** to wait!" Alby said in an overly nasal whine, playing it up.

"Poor _baby_." Adrian crooned, shamelessly teasing now, his dark mood gone. Alby started to laugh at the farcical banter, and the man dissolved into chuckles of his own as the heaviness of the past shifted off his shoulders. He pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help the still laughing boy up. "Come on, let's see if a little time in the ring will work off some of your extra energy and give you something else to think about.."

* * *

Newt had noticed the two off by themselves as soon as he'd returned to the group but was reluctant to go over and join them, especially when they were so obviously involved in a deep, serious conversation. He watched from a discreet distance, waiting for an opportunity to casually wander over. He wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, but the topic must be dire for both look so grim. He turned to talk to another runner for a moment about the running patterns for tomorrow and, when he looked back, the mood of the pair had shifted to something palpably lighter. He was just starting to head their way when Adrian put an arm around Alby.

Newt stopped dead in his tracks.

A little fire of jealousy started in his heart as he watched Alby and Adrian laughing easily together. He wasn't proud of it, but it was definitely there. Even though he knew better, he couldn't help but think that Adrian's arm should be around **his** shoulders, it should be **him** Adrian was laughing with. He slipped back into the background as they headed towards the ring, not sure he could hide his irritation well enough to convince them that nothing was wrong.

He watched as they wrestled in the ring, soothed slightly and feeling a mean little thrill when the man downed Alby with almost no visible effort. He stood in the wings, watching, thinking, until the crowd started to break up and disperse into the other areas. As the man began to say his goodnights, Newt slipped into the woods and started towards Adrian's little house to wait for him.

Now that he actually understood what he wanted, he was going to do his level best to get it.

* * *

Author's note ~

The songs featured in this chapter are **Bohemian Rhapsody** by **Queen** and **Blaze of Glory** by **Jon Bon Jovi**

Something for you guys to ponder this week. What's **your** favorite song? Let me know and, if it fits, you might just see it in an update down the road. ^.~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	42. Wait And See

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _As the man began to say his goodnights, Newt slipped into the woods and started towards Adrian's little house to wait for him._

 _Now that he actually understood what he wanted, he was going to do his level best to get it._

* * *

Adrian was not quite stumbling drunk, though he wasn't too far off. He managed the now worn path through the trees to his house, tripping over an occasional rock or branch but keeping his balance well enough to stop himself from actually going down. He paused at the edge of the clearing and, finding himself swaying a little, leaned against a sturdy tree to try and steady himself. He squinted at his little cottage in the dark; he'd closed the door before he went to the bonfire, hadn't he? And he knew there was no way he'd been foolish enough to leave the candles burning, though he could clearly see the yellow flickering light through the open doorway. He squared his shoulders and walked as steadily as he could toward the building, ready to confront his unexpected company.

He was almost at the door when Newt stepped out onto the threshold, haloed by the light inside.

"Kid? Why're you here, 'stead of tearin' it up at the bonfire?"

"I was looking for you." Newt said softly, turning towards him. Warning bells rang dimly in the back of Adrian's alcohol muddled mind. He opened his hands in a placating gesture and slowly took a small step back.

"Not that I don't 'preciate your company, but I'm just going to crash for the next twelve hours. Wh'ever you want to talk about, it can wait 'til tomorrow when my brain's back up and running."

Newt took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm his jumping stomach – and bolster his courage – before stepping past the man and moving to stand directly in front of him. He felt miserably awkward looking up into those glazed green eyes; he'd never done (or tried to do this) anything like this before, had never had the desire to. After that afternoon in the meadow with Adrian he'd begun to think about what it might be like to actually be with someone else, if both were willing. Just a stray thought at first, the realization that he wanted to try that with Addy had been compounded by his unexpected flash of jealousy, seeing the man chumming around with Alby. Newt decided to move before he lost his nerve; while he was afraid his lack of practical knowledge was going to muck things up, he wasn't going to let apprehension stop him.

"It's not your brain I'm after tonight, Addy. I'm not here to talk."

Adrian tried to take another step back and found himself flat up against the rough, unyielding exterior wall.

 _Nowhere to run_ , he thought hollowly as the boy moved into his personal space.

"Look kid, not that it's not _flatt'ring_ , but I don't think – "

" _Stop calling me that!_ " Newt said hotly, grabbing a fistful of Adrian's shirt and yanking him closer, his eyes flashing obstinately. "I'm _not_ a bloody kid, Addy, so don't you shuckin' _treat_ me like one! I stopped being a bloody **kid** the day they took my memories and sent me up in that ruddy box!"

"You're angry, and mixed up." Adrian tried in a reasonable voice. "T's not me you want, kid. You think you do 'cause I helped you, but really I'm just handy. And I'm way _too old_ for you. Why don't you – "

Newt jerked on Adrian's shirt angrily, forcing him downward, and pressed his mouth firmly to the man's to shut him up, his temper momentarily overriding his hesitance. He found himself fumbling when their lips met, not knowing what to do or how exactly to proceed.

Their noses knocked together, and he was leaning at a weird angle that made the kiss uncomfortable to maintain. Determined to try, he closed the last few inches of space between them and rested his body up against the man, trying to find a better position. He ran his free hand down Adrian's chest, circling it around to the small of his back for lack of a better place to put it, accidentally sliding it under Adrian's shirt in the process. Newt broke for air, distracted by the feel of smooth skin and contrasting lines of scar tissue under his palm. Still pressed up against the man, Newt turned his head when he felt Adrian's hand close over the back of his neck, afraid he was going to be forced to stop. In one sure swift move, Adrian tilted Newt's head back and pulled him into a sloppy, blistering kiss.

Newt gasped, the knee jerk reaction parting his lips, and he felt Adrian's tongue invade his mouth. It was strange but oddly nice, and he shyly tried to copy the actions. The man's other arm banded around his waist, bringing the boy more firmly against him. Newt whimpered a little at the friction, and felt a heat spreading in his gut when he felt a hard lump pressing into his stomach as Adrian's body responded to the contact.

Feeling the reaction, a little giddy from the enthusiastic response, he let go of Adrian's shirt and threw his arm around the man's neck, wiggling a little impatiently. Adrian broke the kiss this time, instinctively grinding up against the boy as his excitement grew. Newt dropped his head to Adrian's shoulder, his breath ghosting across the damp skin and making the man shiver in response. Nervous, but resolute, he unwound his arm from Adrian's neck and slid it in between them, reaching for Adrian's belt buckle.

" _Addy._ "

His name, said with a lusty sigh, hit Adrian like a bullet. His hands shifted to Newt's shoulders without warning and roughly peeled the boy off of him. It felt like the sudden heat of the moment had burned the majority of the alcohol right out of his system.

" **Stop**. You have to stop. We're _not doing this,_ Newt."

"Why?" he demanded, trying to worm his way out of the hard grip and back to his intended mission. " _Why_ do we have to stop? It's just...sex." Newt winced a little at the word, but pushed through. "I want this. I know **you** want this too." He said, pointing at the obvious bulge in the man's pants.

"You're wrong."

"I'm **not!"** Newt insisted, going still and locking eyes with the man. They'd shifted away from the light spilling through the open door and, shadowed by the overhang of the roof, Adrian's eyes were an undecipherable black. "You...you responded. You kissed me back." He almost choked on the words, trying not to keep his tone even. "You pulled me closer."

"It was an automatic response. I should've pushed you away right from the beginning, but I've been drinking and forgot myself for a minute. Kind of hard not to, when you plaster yourself up against a guy and dive right in. Still, I came to my senses, and better late than never." The man kept his words cool and concise, leaving no doubts as to his thoughts on the matter. "You can get with anyone in the glade you want, as long as they're willing. _I'm not_. I am **no** t going there with you, kid. You'll have to find someone else to play with."

Newt wrenched free and stepped away, turning his back on the man. His shoulders trembled with upset frustration, and his face burned from embarrassment.

"This is your bloody fault. It **is**." Newt growled, the feared rejection hitting him like a spear to the guts. "If you _hadn't_...if I didn't see... _if you_..."

"I asked you to find someone else to help you. You were adamant, it had to be me. I gave you a hand. It was _nothing personal._ " Adrian stated coldly, cruelly, trying to hammer the point home. Speaking so harshly to the boy made him feel sick to his stomach, but he was going to damn well make sure the message got across. "You suddenly want to experiment? _Fine_ , but it won't be on me. I prefer lovers closer to my own age, thanks, someone with some _experience_ under their belt. You're _not my type_. We can be friends, but it doesn't go any further than that."

"You _don't want_ me _._ " Newt whispered the words, dismayed, humiliated, crushed.

"I don't want you."

Unable to take it any longer, Newt tore off for the trees, running blindly. He tripped and fell hard, hardly a dozen feet into the brush. He scrambled to his feet and kept running, his heart pounding, his stomach rolling greasily as he floundered to get as far away from Adrian as he possibly could.

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose to try and relieve some of the pressure; it felt like his head was going to explode. Shame, self loathing and disgust at himself churned into a noxious mix. When he heard the crash of the boy going down he started toward the woods instinctively, intending to make sure Newt was alright. _Well, physically alright,_ Adrian thought bitterly. _I shattered him emotionally tonight; I know I wanted a_ _ **break**_ _from him, but I never wanted to break him down. I doubt he'll even speak to me again after this._ He heard the tell-tale skitter of the boy getting up and dashing off and halted his forward movement, starting into the darkness of the undergrowth and hating himself. He noticed a tiny red light in his peripheral vision, slowly slithering down a tall tree.

A beetle blade, getting a better angle.

Anger and outrage boiling towards violence at the sight, Adrian leaned on a sapling with his left hand and eased his knife from the sheath with his right, watching the light from the corner of his eyes until it was closer to the ground. In one furious move, he pivoted and threw the knife at the obnoxious metal creature.

Adrian wasn't a crack shot. Oh his aim was fairly decent, but he never expected to actually hit the swift little monster. It was a fluke, or fate, or sheer dumb luck that guided the projectile directly to the beetle blade, the razor sharp six inch blade piercing its metal hide and effectively pinning it to the tree. The machine let out a high pitched squealing shriek that sounded like something between a mechanical screech and the screaming of a rat in a trap.

Always ready to take advantage of an unforeseen opportunity, Adrian ran over and grabbed the flailing creature by the base of the head, the thin metal plates of its body curving under his crushing grip. He yanked the knife out of the tree and turned the beast so that it was pointed directly at his face, still making that ear splitting keening, and snarled right into the little glass lens at the end of its 'face'.

" _Enjoying the show?_ "

The machine went silent instantly; he could hear the shutters and the gears readjusting as it focused on his face.

"Think about this." He spat furiously. "Right now I'm doing what you sent me here to do, working _within_ the system **you** made so as to not botch **your** 'little experiment'. You also _**know**_ why I'm doing this, and _ **why**_ I haven't opened my mouth and screwed up all your precious data. _Yet._ " He sneered at the camera. "If you start breathing down my neck all it takes is **one** slip of the lip and everything you've built, _everything_ you've worked towards for _**years**_ will be rendered _completely useless._ So help me God, I'll say screw it and send it all down _in flames_ before I play any more of your sick little games, or dance like a puppet for your fucking _entertainment_. Consider that."

He grabbed the beetle blade by the body with his other hand and twisted in opposite directions until he heard a sharp crack and saw the light blink off, the little machine going limp in his grasp. He carried his kill into the house, slamming the door behind him to vent some of his bubbling vexation. Sitting down at the table and using his knife as a makeshift screwdriver, he disassembled the machine to see if there was any useful components he could scavenge from its carcass. As his body finished sobering up he occupied himself with the dissection and tried not to think about the accusation – and the pain – in Newt's voice during their argument.

* * *

Adrian decided that enough was enough, and took the whole next day for himself. He snuck into the kitchen as soon as he woke up from a fitful sleep, pilfering a supply of snacks without feeling even a hint of guilt and slinking back to his house unseen. Putting aside the sorted piles of mechanical parts that he'd stripped from the beetle blade, he pulled out a bag of short peeled sections of branch, each about as long as his thumb and a little bigger in diameter. Wanting nothing to do with glade life, wanting to escape for a while, he began carving a specific series of shapes. It was mindless, soothing work.

Using his knife to get the basic shapes and one of the tiny razor like claws from the beetle blade for finer details, he began lining figures up in a row on his table. By lunch time he'd made four lines of eight; a complete set. He dug out a pouch of sand and used it to smooth out the rough edges, separating them into two groups and dropping them into two small pots of solution he'd prepared while he carved. Having worked with his girls on their wardrobe he still had a number of ingredients used to create dye, and had settled on walnut husks for black and chokecherries for a rich reddish color.

He unrolled a left over chunk of leather while his pieces soaked, marking a square in the center and, using a loose piece of paper from his book to ensure straight lines, drew out an eight by eight grid. He heated the tip of his knife over a candle and used it to score the grid into the leather, cutting the excess hide away and leaving a border of an inch or so all the way around. After fishing his carvings out and setting them on the window sill to dry he sewed loops into the corners and sides of the leather mat, shaved and shaped thinner twigs to fit into the loops and hold the whole thing flat, and cleaned up the mass of shavings and debris that had piled up while he worked.

He was wondering just how long his blissful silence would last when, as if on cue, there was a rapid hammering knock on the door. He answered it, accepting his alone time was at an end.

Minho stood waiting, his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face.

"Afternoon Minho. Did you need something?" Adrian asked drily, though he could already hazard a guess as to the topic from the glower the keeper was giving him.

"What happened between you and Newt?" The boy demanded, his jaw clenched in challenge. Adrian rolled his eyes and stepped back, waving Minho into the house. The boy stalked in, planting himself in the middle of the room and facing the man with his shoulders squared and his hands on his hips.

"What happened between you and Newt?" He repeated, jutting his chin out and daring the man to make a move.

"He's in a poor mood, I take it?"

Minho snorted.

"He's been pissy all day; sulky, moody, cranky. _Mutterin_ ' under his breath. He was _all but glued_ to you; and now you're hidin' in here and he's throwing dark looks at anyone who says your name. It don't exactly take a **genius** to put two and two together."

"Yeah, he's not terribly happy with me at the moment. We had a bit of a... _disagreement_ last night."

"So **fix** it." Minho ordered bluntly. "When he's miserable, he makes us miserable. And...and he's my **friend**." he added lowly, "I don't take it _kindly_ when someone screws with one of my friends."

"He's my friend too." Adrian sighed, flopping down on the couch, rubbing his face in exasperation. "Sometimes friends have a difference of opinion. Sometimes they fight. I'm sorry it's bothering him, but...I've gotta stand my ground on this."

"What were you arguing about?"

"That's really none of your damn business, but feel free to ask him." Adrian said curtly, refusing to incriminate Newt and irritated with the runner's attempt to forcibly invade his privacy.

"I will." Minho shot back flippantly, turning to leave. He stopped for a moment before he disappeared out the door, sending a threatening look over his shoulder.

"I don't care if you're whipping the med jacks into shape. I _don't care_ if you've taught the others how to make better buildings. I _**don't even**_ _**care**_ that you make great grub. If you mess with my friends, if you _hurt Newt_...I'll drag you into the shuckin' maze and let the grievers chop you into stew meat."

On that lovely image Adrian was, once again, left alone.

* * *

Adrian worked tirelessly for the next couple of days, putting in long hours polishing plans, discussing ideas and working out potential kinks in projects. He told himself that he was more productive without Newt following him around like a lost puppy. He told himself that it was a relief to finally have a couple of hours a day free of the persistent boy. He reminded himself how exhausting it was, being the object of constant attention.

He made preparations with his girls, schemed with Alby and Frypan on improvements, worked with Jeff and Clint. He smiled and acted like nothing was wrong.

He told himself it was better this way.

He was puttering around the med hit, checking and reorganizing the supplies as he waited for the two medjacks to return from foraging for herbs when a faint knock sounded on the office door.

"Yeah, it's open." He called, his head in the narrow space under the cement sink, checking for leaks.

"...Hey Addy."

Adrian tried to stand up in a hurry and bashed his head on the underside of the sturdy cement counter in the process. Cursing viciously and seeing stars, he gingerly poked at the lump on his skull with the tips of his fingers, curling his lip in disgust when they came back smeared with red.

"Well, I've always been told I've got a hard head." He grumbled, irritated by the instant, throbbing headache.

"You really bloody do." Newt answered with a half laugh, forgetting the tension between them for a split second. Adrian shot him a wry smile and he looked away at once, suddenly uncomfortable. "Uhh...Alby sent me over; he needs to know if you want to use the builders for the kitchen upgrades, or if you're good with a couple of sloppers. Said he had to know _now_ , so he can make arrangements."

"Sloppers are fine." The man said casually, hoping to put the boy at ease. "It's not specialized work, I just need a couple extra pairs of hands."

"Right. I'll let him know." Newt said shortly, turning on his heel and moving to beat a hasty retreat. The man called out before he could leave.

"Newt..."

The boy froze in his tracks. Adrian cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry." He said gently. "I'm sorry that I can't give you what you want, sorry that I hurt you. I know you're angry with me right now. I just want you to know...we CAN still be _friends_. It's your call; I'll respect your decision, either way."

Newt didn't respond, giving a jerky little shrug and hunching his shoulders miserably as he walked away.

He didn't look back.

Adrian let out an aggrieved huff of breath, wishing he could figure out how to resolve the discord that had risen between them. He made a snap decision to talk to Alby in private and encourage him to invite Newt to the next 'girl's night'; maybe having access to a more appropriate outlet would scratch the boy's itch and give them a chance to repair their easy friendship.

 _Doubtful_ , he thought, rubbing his head, _but it's worth a shot_.

* * *

The gladers gathered in the now familiar clearing under the cold clear light of the full moon, eager to finally find out what the professed challenge was. For once the girls didn't keep them waiting, materializing out of the forest moments after the fire had been lit. Dressed in new costumes, the girls were in simple black corset style tops and incredibly short shorts, showing off a tantalizing amount of skin. Tied around their waists were bands of coarse twine, holding a dozen or more scraps of fabric in place to form a kind of floaty, colorful skirt. Each also wore new brightly painted masks and vibrant cloth strips threaded through their elaborately styled hair. They overall effect made them looked exotic birds – beautiful and predatory.

Althea was outfitted in unrelieved black, from her long skirt with the high, high slit showing off a mouthwatering expanse of leg, to the low cut long sleeve blouse that clung like a second skin and highlighted her generous curves. Her masked face was partially veiled by some kind of fine black netting, which was fastened to a fantastical hat perched in her highly piled curls. The only hint of color on her were red, red lips that stood out starkly against her pale face. The contrast was stunning, and stole the breath of more than one glader watching their arrival.

Newt goggled at the sight; he'd had no clue what to expect when Alby had told him there was a 'special meeting' tonight. No one else looked terribly surprised to see the newcomers, though, so he whispered to the boy at his side.

"Who _are_ they?"

"The woman's Althea. The girls are her daughters – I think." Minho supplied, which only raised more questions to Newt's mind.

"Where the bloody hell did they come from?"

"Don't know, didn't ask, don't _care?_ " Minho responded, staring at the girls with an avaricious look in his eyes. "They just showed up one night. And thank God they did!"

"Don't care?!" Newt demanded. "They could be dangerous – you have no idea **who** they are, **wher** e they're from...what if this is all some sick trick! Or even a _trap!_ "

Minho just laughed at the outburst, dismissing Newt's suspicions without a second thought.

"Believe me, they're not here to hurt us. You'll see for yourself, they're really quite... _friendly._ "

With that he let out an appreciative wolf whistle; grinning and wiggling his eyebrows at the girls. Newt grimaced, sure the shameless actions would anger or upset their unusual guests and spark a confrontation. The girls just laughed, though, striking poses and blowing kisses that invited others to voice their approval as well. The boys burst into hoots and whistles as the girls visibly soaked up the attention. Althea stepped in front of the mob of boys as the din eventually quieted down.

"Tonight is special night, special...game. My rebenok, you see, they grow bored of the simple most easy, they understand so quickly and always are hungry to learn more. They ask, always they ask, when can we know more? I tell them, tonight, three of boys will...learn more with them, this night. And how to choose? All are good, strong boy, worthy boy. So we will do contest, yes? To see which three have the nerve, the prochnost' to take next step in learning with my girls. _Rebenok,_ _ **idti.**_ "

The girls swept into a synchronized curtsy, bending low and shooting the gladers a decidedly wicked look. Without warning they turned and ran into the woods, making the boys cry out in dismay and confusion at their sudden departure.

"I will tell you of the rules." Althea stated calmly, cutting off their outburst. "Each girl wears special belt, made for tonight only, belt holding many color...flag? Flag. Also, hidden in woods, are more flag. You are to find, to gather many as you can, from woods or girls – before the moon falls behind the tall stone walls. Three who get most flag are chosen as winners. But beware;" She added softly, "for my children are crafty and may...distract you from your goal, even take back the cloth you steal from them. Woods are dangerous too, many ways for boy to find trouble in the trees after dark. Only brave, smart boy can take most flag and earn the prize. Now go! Show me you are worthy!"

Most of the gladers scrambled to a run and scattered into the wind, whooping as they plowed their way through the bushes with all the grace and finesse of young bears. Newt planted his feet and refused to follow, facing the woman and ignoring Minho's urgent tugging on his arm.

"You are new boy." She said, without inflection. Newt stood his ground, studying her suspiciously. Something about her was ever so vaguely familiar.

"What the _shuck_ is all this? Who are you people? What do you _want_ from us?"

"I am Althea. Others will introduce girls to you. I ask nothing of you."

"How did you get up here?"

She just looked through him coldly, refusing to answer the hostile query. Minho tried to move him, to no avail.

"Who sent you? Why should we play your weird little game?"

She narrowed her eyes, waving him off dismissively.

"You ask too many questions. Do not play, if you have fear. I care not. I have no time for rude little boy pretending to be big man. Go. Ask your friend to teach you manners before you insult me again."

"Newt, come _on_!" Minho hissed, yanking him away and dragging him out of the clearing, embarrassment on his face at Newt's severe lack of tact. She turned her back on the retreating boys – and found herself face to face with Alby.

"Yes? What question does the leader have?" She asked, forcing her lips to curve.

Alby thought for a minute, studying her before tilting his head.

"What's wrong?"

Startled by the unexpected query, he arched a brow and donned a confident look.

" _Wrong?_ Why would the leader think something is wrong?"

"You're unhappy, upset about something." Alby murmured softly, coaxingly. "I can see it. Tell me what it is; maybe I can help. I want to help."

Althea looked at the earnest young man and smiled sadly.

"You are kind boy, to ask. But is...difficult place, tricky. Some things...cannot be helped."

* * *

Minho pulled Newt into the woods and out of sight of the flickering fire before he laid into his friend.

"Do you always go in swingin' the first time you meet someone?! What the _shuck_ was that about?!"

Newt bristled at the accusatory tone.

"Me? All I did was ask a couple of _simple_ bloody questions! Which she couldn't even be bothered to answer! Why has _no one_ else thought to ask, _huh?_ Why am I the only one thinking there's something _off_ about all this?"

"You're jumping at shadows." Minho threw up his hands, frustrated. "What do you think, they're _grievers in dresses?_ Listen, slinthead, you're gonna ruin the only really good thing we have? And right when we've just gotten it?!"

" _What_ good thing?" Newt shot back, going nose to nose with his keeper. "What world do _you_ live in that four strangers just _appearing_ out of nowhere is a _good thing_?"

Minho let out a garbled sound of wordless exasperation and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Look, they're not a threat. I can vouch for that. They've visited us four shuckin' times in the last month with **no** awful consequences. If you don't want to trust that, fine, whatever, have it your way. But either help me find those stupid flags or stay here and wallow in distrust; _**I'm**_ not going to miss out on a chance at the prize because **you** want to waste time on useless suspicions."

"I'll help you Min." Newt sniffed, falling in behind the keeper as he sprinted off into the trees. "But you can **bet** I'm going to bloody rub it in if these...visitors...don't turn out to be as _wonderful_ as you think they are."

"You'll be eating your words before sunrise." Minho promised, scanning the dark for hints, "Just wait and see."

* * *

Author's note ~ See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	43. Hope

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _"_ _I'll help you Min." Newt sniffed, falling in behind the keeper as he sprinted off into the trees. "But you can_ _ **bet**_ _I'm going to bloody rub it in if these...visitors...don't turn out to be as wonderful as you think they are."_

 _"_ _You'll be eating your words before sunrise." Minho promised, scanning the dark for hints, "Just wait and see."_

* * *

Footsteps crashed through the woods, interspersed with panting, deep laughter and high pitched giggles. Crashes, curses and shouts rang through the air. After ten or fifteen minutes of wandering in the dark, the brighter boys experienced an epiphany and raced back to the clearing, grabbing burning branches from the fire to use as torches to light their way. Minho and Newt, each carrying a fiery brand, worked their way systematically through the eastern section of the woods.

Newt shimmied up a tall slender pine and snagged the first colorful bit of cloth, almost invisible among the needles. Minho slogged through the coldly churning stream and retrieved another from where it had been tied to a thin stick anchored in the middle of the current. They were picking their way through a thicket of tangled thorny briars when they heard a hellacious commotion followed by a symphony of high pitched screaming. They exchanged a concerned look and, in perfect synchronization, extracted themselves from the bushes and raced toward the ruckus. Skidding to a stop under a broad leafed maple, they ascertained the source of the distressing sounds and immediately burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Gally was hanging upside down and all but hog tied in some kind of coarsely woven net. In the light of their torches they could clearly see where the trap had been pinned to the dirt; a thick branch lay off to the side, a bit of cloth tied to the end. The bait had obviously been too tempting for Gally, his urge to win silencing any suspicions as to the easy accessibility of the flag. In his haste to claim it and add it to the two already tucked into his belt, he'd barrelled head first into a very simple – yet very effective – trap. Gally, usually so rugged and terse, squealed like a little girl and writhed within his impromptu hammock, dangling a full six feet off the ground.

Once they'd managed to get their breath back, Newt shot a grin at Minho.

"Whaddya think, _Min?_ Cut him down, or leave 'im hanging?"

Minho's answering smirk was devilish in the flickering light.

"Well, he's _always_ saying that he doesn't have the time to hang out; he's always **too busy!** Work, work, work! I think we should leave him here – maybe he'd enjoy a little **R &R.**"

"Newt! _Minho!_ Don't you shuckin' **dare!"** Gally bellowed as he squirmed, rolling himself tighter and tighter in the ropes. "Get me the shuck **down** from here, now! You slint heads better cut me loose, **NOW** , or _so help me_ I'll kick the klunk outta **both** of you the first chance I get! _ **I mean it!**_ "

"Such _awful_ language!" Minho cried, shaking his head. "If you're going to pitch a hissy fit, you really do need a time out. Although...it would be a _shame_ to leave these two fine flags here with King Crusty, _wouldn't it_ Newt?"

"Too right, Min. I think they'd be better off coming with _**us.**_ " Newt commented, really turning the screw. He plucked the first cloth from the discarded branch before reaching through the net to claim the one on Gally's person, Minho holding the swaying bundle still while Gally screeched impotently. Newt waved the flags over his head gloatingly so that Gally could see it before the two runners sprinted off into the night, laughing as the sounds of Gally's cursing threats faded behind them.

Though Newt still didn't trust the strangers – especially that arrogant woman – he had to admit he was enjoying the unexpected frivolity of the challenging game.

Gally was only the first of many casualties they found as they searched; Ben was bound to a tree, encased in so much rope he looked like a sisal grub. Peter from the kitchen was stuck up in a tree, probably having gone up looking for a better vantage point only to find himself struck by a petrifying fear of heights before he could slither back down. George lay spread eagle on the mossy ground, almost hidden by a clump of ferns, out cold with a dopey grin on his slack face. Two others were trapped in nets just as Gally had been, and still others were trussed in pairs, back to back, wandering in circles like deranged animals as they tried to break free. Minho and Newt avoided the pitfalls of their peers and were able to grab another two flags from the incapacitated gladers, bringing their combined total to seven.

The moon was kissing the top edge of the stone wall and slowly starting to slip from sight as they began heading back to the clearing, Minho eager to show off their spoils. Midway there, two of the girls silently stepped out from the bushes, appearing out of nowhere like ghosts and blocking their path. Both girls still had several flags hanging from their twine belts and the boys eyed them hopefully, contemplating how best to snatch a couple for themselves without providing an opportunity for their own flags to be taken.

The girls came towards them confidently; the boys held their ground.

Newt braced himself for an attack, his mind flipping through possible ways to fend them off and wondering if he had it in him to hit a girl. He was wondering how these delicate looking creatures had been able to neutralize so many of his fellow gladers, and was almost prepared to go on the offensive when the blonde slid her body up against him and wrapped her arms gently around his neck, shocking him to the core with the unforeseen move.

"You're the new boy." She purred in his ear, her breath tickling him as she spoke. "I'm Ashley, and I'm just...so terribly _excited_ to meet you!"

Newt tried to lean away a little; uneasy and not sure how to handle the situation, he glanced over at Minho to gauge his reaction.

The keeper of the runners was apparently receiving the same treatment from the darker skinned girl, though he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it. His hands freely roamed the girl's back as he gleefully took advantage of the opportunity, fully absorbed in her company. Newt felt a hand on his chest and turned his head back to look into those large, sparkling eyes.

"Come now, you **must** let me welcome you _properly_." Ashley whispered silkily, still rubbing up against him.

Newt was torn – confused as to what was going on, uneasy with the sudden affection from a stranger, and lost as to how to deal with either. She was entirely too close to him, getting more physically friendly than he was comfortable with. On the other hand he could feel his body start to respond in a kind of absent way; while the warmth and tingles of the perfectly natural reaction seemed pale and faded in comparison to what he'd felt with Addy, he couldn't deny that the reaction was still there.

Befuddled by the encounter, disoriented by his own reaction, he never saw it coming.

Ashley traced her tongue down the side of his neck, causing him to shiver involuntarily at the sensation. He looked away and, in a split second, Ashley snatched one of the flags trailing from his pocket and hooked her leg behind one of his, throwing her weight into it and sending him sprawling on the damp ground. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he heard Minho's grunt of shock as he too unceremoniously hit the dirt. Giggles rang out in stereo and rapidly fleeing footsteps sounded – two pairs of running feet, heading in opposite directions. The boys scrambled back upright but it was too late – the girls had vanished into the woods as quickly as they had appeared. Newt pulled the bright fabric strips from his pocket frantically.

"They got one of the flags!" He cried, closing the remaining pieces in a tight fist. Minho checked those he carried before letting out a gargled sound of frustration.

"Brianne hit me too! _**Shuck!**_ It's almost game over! Which way did they _go?!_ "

"Come **on!** " Newt urged, caught up. "They'll be heading back to the clearing; maybe we can snag them before they make it and _get them back!_ "

Unfortunately the moon had fully dipped behind the far wall before the two runners slid to an out of breath stop at the edge of the clearing. The woman stood waiting, accompanied by a number of the captured who'd been freed from their various bindings. Judging by the sour looks on their faces they'd been released, empty handed, with just enough time to rejoin the rest for the conclusion of the event. The other players filed in steadily until, at last, all were present and accounted for. Though Newt clearly remembered that Alby had hung back to talk to the woman at the beginning of the games, he had evidently decided to join them in the search. He showed up last of all, trailed by the three girls and clutching a handful of flags, flashing a satisfied smile at the rest of the boys. Just under two thirds of the boys had been able to capture one or more of the coveted favors, and they shuffled into a crooked line to await the finale. Everyone was eager to find out who was victorious – and what the mysterious prize would be for the fortunate one.

"Hold out the cloth; we are to finding who is most worthy hunter!" Althea commanded, starting at the far end of the line, her girls waiting excitedly in a tight little huddle by the fire. She walked past each boy, calling their number out loud as she searched for the best.

"Four, yes, well done." She congratulated Zart, moving down the line. "Two only here, a _good_ try... **Five!** Quick boy, _clever_ boy." She told Jeff, who promptly went so red Newt was afraid he might pass out before a winner was even announced. Minho puffed his chest out as Althea stopped in front of him, holding out the combined effort of his and Newt's work. "Five, for keeper of runners. Very good, _very_ strong." She eventually made it to the very end of the line where Alby stood, waiting patiently. The others leaned forward, holding their breaths as she counted.

" _ **Eight!**_ Eight flag! Leader truly is _strongest_ , most _clever_ boy!" She exclaimed, a wide, wide smile stretching across her face.

The rest of those in the running started to grumble and curse their bad luck – the contest was over, Alby the clear winner.

"It just _figures_." Minho muttered Newt in disgust. "If the girls hadn't caught up to us and waylaid us on the way back, we might have had time to snatch another one on the way; we could've tied! This seriously **sucks.** Now we – "

"I would like for two other boys, boys who have five flags to come forward." Her voice sliced off the discontent like a honed blade. Clearly stunned, Minho took a couple of steps forward, winding up standing beside a smug Alby and a baffled looking Jeff.

"It is good fit, I think, for these to be top three boys. The one who heals, the best of runners, the leader of all. Yes, these three are most _worthy_." She decreed, pointing to Alby first. "Eight flag, most count. Leader will get first word, first...choose?"

She made an inviting sweep of her arm, gesturing towards where the three girls stood, heads bowed demurely as they waited.

"Who is your choose?"

Alby swallowed, taking a moment to find his voice. He was glad that the light was so dim, and even more grateful for his dusky skin – otherwise, he had the feeling he'd be red as a berry right now. He looked the woman right in the eye and pitched his voice down an octave, filling the words with as much confidence and self-assurance as he could muster.

"Althea. My choice is **Althea.** "

The watching boys gasped at the shocking statement; even the woman's face registered a moment of surprise before she composed herself, an oddly sad smile ghosting over her lips.

"Sweet boy. _**I**_ am not for choosing; you are to pick from _rebenok._ "

"I'm choosing you, Althea. **You're** the one I want." He assured, trying to sound as mature as possible. She shook her head, sighing a little.

"You ask what I _canno_ t give." She chided gently, tilting her head and considering the best course of action. "Perhaps... _perhaps_ I can give you small something, before my rebenok begin the lesson. Runner, _**you**_ choose." She pointed to Minho, and even in the unreliable light of the fire red could be seen tinting his pale skin.

"I...I'll t-take Brianne." Minho managed, uncharacteristically stuttering a bit . The woman nodded, turning to Jeff.

"Healer? Who would you choose?"

"I'd like Sarah, please. If she's okay with that..." He said shyly, looking away from where the trio stood waiting.

"I'd be delighted." Sarah replied softly, smiling warmly at the nervous boy.

"And so Ashley is for leader." Althea confirmed with finality as the girls approached the three chosen boys, each moving to stand by their designated male. She stopped Ashley for a moment, leaning in to speak to Alby quietly, apology in her eyes.

"Is not...is not what you want, but I will give you... _little_ taste. I cannot give you bigger one."

She took Alby's hand and led him towards the edge of the clearing, gently positioning him so that he was leaning against a wide tree while Sarah and Brianne did the same with Jeff and Minho. She ran her fingers over the leader's shoulders and took his face in her hands, pressing her body against his and inclining her head, kissing him deeply. Alby's arms came up around her, his hands running softly up and down her back as he basked in the feeling of embracing her.

The tone of the kiss was for more sensual than the blistering encounters he'd experienced from her before; a slow burn instead of the firestorm of sensations he'd expected. Her thumbs stroked his face softly, as though she were trying to console him – or apologize for something. He tried to shift the tone to something more serious but she released him, stepping out of his grip before he could stop her. Ashley instantly took her place.

"Althea..."

" _Please_ , ask **no more** of me. You are not needing me now – I am not to be staying for this." She nodded to the girls, patiently waiting. "You are to begin next lesson. You know how to do." She turned and walked away into the trees, her darkly draped form disappearing into the shadows in the blink of an eye. The waiting gladers jostled uneasily, confused by the woman's abrupt and unexplained departure. The girls moved first, each kissing their respective partner enthusiastically before flashing a wide expectant grin and licking their lips as they dropped to their knees.

* * *

Newt watched as the three victors were chosen, puzzling over what 'big payoff' had whipped the others into such a frenzy over the game.

He didn't get it when the woman had each boy pick a partner.

He didn't get it when she got all cuddly and touchy-feely with Alby.

He _really_ didn't get it when the woman left.

But the sight of the three girls kneeling before the guys, the ridiculously loud sound of three zippers being simultaneously opened in the stunned hush, the resulting gasps and groans from his friends...

A light bulb went on in the back of his head as he finally figured it out, the peculiarity of the whole situation making him wonder if he was actually tucked safely into his own hammock, caught in the grips of a really odd dream. He felt a little uncomfortable watching something so explicitly personal happening, and even more so when he felt his body start to react to the sight.

He glanced sideways at the other guys, spread out and watching the action with mesmerized looks on their faces. After the three girls were finished with the chosen few they began to move through the rest, kissing them and rubbing up against them, fondling them through their pants until each had been gratified in turn. They moved through the crowd, dealing with the gladers one by one in a disciplined and orderly fashion.

When they reached him it was the blonde who once again pressed up against him, and a combination of both excitement and nerves fluttered in his stomach.

"I hope there's no hard feelings about before?" She asked, batting her eyelashes as her hands roamed his body. "It was just part of the game, after all. I introduced myself earlier but we really didn't have the chance to get fully acquainted. I can make it up to you." She purred, capturing one of his hands and guiding it to her waist. "We've got all the time in the world, now."

She leaned in and kissed him.

He felt her lips moving against his, felt her hand moving down his body and nearing his groin. He pulled away abruptly, breaking the kiss with a shaky gasp.

" **Wait!** Stop." He choked out, his heart thrumming like a bird's wings in his chest. He couldn't untangle the emotion, couldn't tell if it was exhilaration or fear or lust or panic. "I'm...I _don't_..."

She froze instantly, her teasing smile softening into something far more kind.

"I don't think I can do this." He blurted, not looking at her. She eased away until their bodies were no longer touching, leaving only her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's alright." She whispered, rubbing his upper arm in a comforting way. "If you're not ready for this, that's _okay_. We'll try again next time - **if** you _want_ to. Maybe you'll be ready then. If not, _that's_ _ **okay**_ _too_. "

She gave him an bolstering pat, and moved on to the next boy without another word.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Newt walked off into the brush and left the others to their fun. He strolled along slowly, taking the time to cool down and try to absorb the implications of the evening. A couple of ideas swam fuzzily in his muddled head, and without actively thinking about it his feet followed a familiar route.

* * *

Adrian peeled the layers of Althea off efficiently, intent on shedding the costume (and persona) as quickly as possible. He stowed away the clothing and wig, washed away the colors and creams on his face and pulled on his own well worn jeans, trying to shake off the melancholy that was forcibly creeping up on him.

He hadn't arrived planning on making friends or getting so emotionally invested in the gladers, but here he was. He cared about the guys and, while not a leader nor interested in becoming one, felt responsible for them now. He was driven more and more every day by the strong desire to make things better for them – not just to ensure their survival, but to try and make life in the glade worth living while they fought to find a way out. He watched their efforts with pride and celebrated their victories, however small and simple they might appear to others. He silently cheered them on, racking his brain for ways to boost morale and productivity, to inspire perseverance and hope. In a profoundly elemental way, they were ALL connected now. He flopped down on the bed, shirtless, determined to be comfortable while he waited for the girls to finish up and return. The silence gave him plenty of time for contemplation, which didn't help his mood.

The two gladers he respected most, the two he was the fondest of both sought something from him that he could not – **would not** – give. They were supposed to turn their affections towards the obviously willing 'girls' he'd worked to make available to them, but both remained stubbornly enamored with either him or 'Althea', despite the other more age appropriate options. The refusal to seek affection from a more sensible source was going to cause nothing but frustration for all involved, and had already produced a a plethora of difficulties. He had reminded Newt two days ago that they could still remain friends, but judging from the strained silence that had persisted between them since, the man didn't truly expect the boy to accept the offer. Now he'd refused the leader as well, and in full view of the rest of the boys, no less. It highly probable that tonight's denial would raise a certain level of animosity between them, making their daily interaction difficult or down right uncomfortable. His rejection was responsible for putting a serious crack in both friendships and, while it may have been unavoidable, knowing he'd hurt his young friends made him feel like an utter bastard.

He plugged his earphones in, hoping that zoning out with the music for a while would allow him to find some clarity about how best to deal with the whole mess. A funky two chord beat played, and he wondered (not for the first time) if his little player had a mind of its own. If it did, it was a malicious little jackass.

.

 _You keep dreaming and dark scheming_

 _Yeah, you do_

 _You're a poison and I know that is the truth_

 _All my friends think you're vicious_

 _And they say you're suspicious_

 _You keep dreaming and dark scheming_

 _._

 _Yeah, you do_

 _._

 _I feel like I'm drowning_

 _I'm drowning_

 _You're holding me down and_

 _Holding me down_

 _You're killing me slow_

 _So slow, oh-no_

 _I feel like I'm drowning_

 _I'm drowning_

 _._

 _You're so plastic and that's tragic_

 _Just for you_

 _I don't know what the hell you gonna do_

 _When your looks start depleting_

 _And your friends all start leaving_

 _You're so plastic and that's tragic_

 _._

 _Just for you_

 _._

 _ **You're not helping, here**_ _,_ he thought bitterly as the accusations all but burned his ears. He switched the player off, stuffing it away and muttering vague threats at it under his breath. He went back to staring at the ceiling in silence, letting his eyes drift to half mast and attempting to empty his mind by will alone.

Someone pounded at the door.

" **Yeah** , it's open." He called out, not bothering to get up. Rolling his eyes, he tucked his hands under the back of his head and spoke in a more normal voice. " _Jesus_ , since when do **you** knock?"

"Addy."

The man sat up hurriedly, swiveling to place his feet square on the floor so he could face the boy.

"Hey kid. What's up?"

"Just, y'know, figured I'd stop by..." Newt said a little awkwardly. "Who doesn't knock?"

"Most of you guys, actually." Adrian lied easily, smoothly avoiding a direct answer. "Some days I wonder why I bothered putting one in at all. Anyway...what brings you to my humble abode?"

"I wanted to...I didn't see you at tonight's...activities." Newt changed course mid sentence.

"Not my cup of tea." The man answered casually, flicking a hand to wave it off. "I'm _shy."_

Newt snorted at that, a half grin sliding on to his face. He shuffled his feet for a moment before making a decision and pulling up a chair.

"I've been thinking." He stated hesitantly. "You said...you _said_ we could still be friends. Even though you...although I..."

"We can be." Adrian said calmly, a warm little trickle of relief starting in his chest. "I'd like to think we **are**. Just because things don't always work out the way you want them to," Adrian reminded, "doesn't mean that _everything's_ lost. I won't get physical with you, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to spend time with you or that I don't enjoy your company."

"It'll be different though. Won't it be _weird?_ " Newt said cautiously, Adrian emphatically shaking his head before the boy could finish the statement.

"Not from my side. We'll hang out, work together, whatever. My feelings for **you** haven't changed, kid. You're still _Sally,_ maze runner extraordinaire, asker of endless questions ."

"And you're still _Mary_ ", Newt retorted, comfortably falling back into their old easy wordplay. "Maker of tasty baked goods and king of _half-arsed_ sarcasm."

Adrian chuckled, infecting Newt into a light laugh of his own as some of the weight he'd been carrying fell away. Maybe Adrian was right. Maybe they really could get back to being friends.

"I should head back, it's been a bloody long day." Newt said, rising. The man nodded agreeably, watching the boy go. "...see you at breakfast?" He offered tentatively, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, see you then. Save me a seat."

Newt shot a bright smile over his shoulder before heading off towards his bed, the simple offhand statement doing more to comfort him than a thousand promises ever could.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was blessedly uneventful. Adrian strolled over and sat down with Newt's usual crew as though nothing had happened between them and, despite the frigidity of Minho's distrustful glare, the meal proceeded without any undue drama. If there were a few awkward moments here and there they were quickly banished by bad jokes and good-natured bickering as the old pattern reasserted itself.

Newt's overall mood and demeanor improved at once; maybe he wasn't as mindlessly cheerful as he'd been directly after his initial encounter with the man, but at the very least he appeared to have returned to his normal outgoing, pre-conflict self. His muttering and moping were things of the past, much to the vast relief of those around him.

A week passed, and events in the glade remained almost pastorally dull. Adrian was up to his elbows in wet cement, smoothing out the new counter tops in the cook hut when the blaring box alarm went off, shaking the ground under his feet. He rolled his shoulders to ease the suddenly tense muscles and focused on his task – if he didn't get the counters finished today, Frypan would most likely try to roast him for tomorrow's dinner. Alec and Stephen, working with him on this project, cast curious, longing looks through the open door. The man sighed.

"Fine, go have a look then. Just get your asses back here _asap_ , we need to get this done _**today**_."

They both bolted off, leaving Adrian with a little uninterrupted time to focus exclusively on getting a perfectly flat surface. Smoothing, leveling, adjusting – and painfully aware that Frypan was displeased with losing full use of his kitchen, and had plenty of access to a variety of very sharp knives - he had absolutely no desire to waste time gawking at the newest unfortunate addition to the glade.

The sloppers trouped back in shortly and Newt, free from running for the day with the expected delivery, poked his head in the door as well.

"Hey Addy. Didn't want a look at the new greenie?"

"Hands are a bit full here, kid. I'll do the meet and greet with him later...if I can ever get this shuckin' _finished_."

"You should have _seen_ him." Alec snickered, removing a form and checking the stability of the new sink. "Crying like a baby, snifflin' and snortin' and whining. _Jeez_."

Even being fully aware that the words were a coping mechanism and not particularly malicious, Adrian couldn't stop himself from rising to the bait.

"And I'm _ **sure**_ ," Adrian said drily, "that you popped out of the box bright eyed and bushy tailed, strong and confident, ready to take on the world."

"He took **one look** at us and squealed like a piglet, latching on to the metal grates like a lifeline." Newt laughed, "It took three of us to **pry** him loose."

"Hey!"

They all shared a laugh at that image, and Alec's indignation at the description.

"He'll come around, given a little time." Adrian stated easily, flexing his cramping hands. "You guys will find a place for him, give him a job. Having something productive to do'll keep his spirits up, help him hold on to hope."

"Hope?" Newt asked quizzically, not understanding the turn of the conversation.

"Of course." Adrian affirmed, hauling another heavy bucket of cement to the next counter with a grunt. " _Hope_ keeps you running. If you lose hope, you give in, **give up**. The trick is holding on to it. As long as you're breathing, there's **always** _hope_. For instance, I _hope_ I can get this mess squared away before Frypan comes back in to check and starts breathing down my neck."

"Huh." Newt said thoughtfully, ducking out of the building and heading off to handle other matters. He let the concept circle around in his head as he went about his day, trying to figure out exactly what the man had meant. He'd never thought about the importance of hope before, but he was giving it some serious consideration now.

* * *

Author's note ~ The song featured in this chapter is **Feel Like I'm Drowning** by **Two Feet**

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	44. Fairy Tale

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"_ _Huh." Newt said thoughtfully, ducking out of the building and heading off to handle other matters. He let the concept circle around in his head as he went about his day, trying to figure out exactly what the man had meant. He'd never thought about the importance of hope before, but he was giving it some serious consideration now._

* * *

Two weeks passed. The new greenie was a tall sturdy boy by the name of Billy, who was quickly placed with the track-hos and looked to be settling in to the routines of the glade without particular distress. Life trudged on; Frypan cooked, Jeff and Clint studied, and Newt ran.

Hope – both the concept and the emotion itself – were very much on Newt's mind as he went about his business. The amorphous ideas in the back of his mind began to form into more solid, realistic possibilities the longer he mulled them over. As thrilled as he was to have regained his friendship with the man, he still felt a lingering yearning, a persistent desire for just a little bit more. A little bit more the man was frustratingly unwilling to give.

 _What had he said?_ Newt thought as he jogged past the stone and ivy monotony of the maze walls. _He prefers a lover with more_ _ **experience**_ _?_ Feeling ashamed of his inability to participate during the last event, Newt begrudgingly conceded that Adrian may, in fact, have made a good point.

If he couldn't enjoy the no-pressure services of the girls, how could he jump into something much more intense and just expect that he wouldn't panic? If, by some great stretch of imagination, the scenario between him and Adrian had played out differently that night...would he have been able to actually take part, or would he have balked and bailed?

Secure in the privacy of the maze, he came to an uncomfortable answer.

Okay, so maybe he was inexperienced. Maybe he wasn't ready for something so serious and involved. Yet. But he earnestly wanted to be, and the only way to get what he wanted was to work towards it until it was in his grasp.

His naivety didn't come of any particular surprise – the notion of seeking physical affection from others in the glade had never held any appeal to him. Now that he was aware of the periodic visits of the girls and the activities their company entailed...well, he recognized an opportunity when it slithered up and molested him. He came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be to try and talk to one of the girls, perhaps Ashley, as she'd been so understanding and respectful of his refusal.

 _It's like running the maze_ , he decided, his breath huffing out in rhythmic little pants as he ran. _You follow the keeper for days and, if you survive Minho's sarcasm, he lets you start marking the map for the day, then slowly taking the lead. He tests you, makes you_ _ **prove**_ _you can do it before you're ever let out on your own. Even then, we usually have someone shadow the newbies for a day or two, just to make sure they don't face-plant or get horridly lost. You don't just get tossed out here to map a whole bloody section solo on your first run._

 _Maybe_ , he mused, _if I swallow my pride and_ _ **learn**_ _, try to take part in that witch's games, get some_ _ **experience**_ _under my belt..._

A spark of hope burned hot inside him, fueled by the solid outlines of a plan, fanned by the wings of stubborn determination.

 _I'll probably need multiple 'lessons', and it won't be quick...but really, what's a couple of weeks? If I can do this, maybe I can prove to him that I'm not just an ignorant little kid,_ _ **show**_ _him I'm mature enough to know what I want. Maybe I can make him reconsider._

 _Maybe..._

* * *

The eve of the next girl's night, Newt followed closely behind an eager Minho and had to keep reminding himself to breathe. Nervous and sweaty but committed, he clung to his plan and absently made small talk with the other boys as they waited for their guests to arrive. He forced himself not to scowl at the woman when she led the others into the small clearing and scanned the waiting gladers, even painfully managing a small smile in hopes she wouldn't punish him for his hostility during their first meeting. When her eyes met his she merely quirked one dark eyebrow, inclining her head slightly to the side in a cold half-nod of acknowledgement before continuing to take stock.

"Tonight, new game for boys." She said archly, smiling faintly and producing a fistful of familiar colored cloths from the depth of her cloak. She passed them off to Brittney and Ashley, Sarah waiting silently by her side as the other two walked through the clusters of gladers, handing them out. Once every boy held a flag, Althea spread her hands and held them palms up, an open invitation.

"Kindly to tie on, cover eyes."

The boys glanced sideways at each other, not sure what to make of the unusual request.

"All is well, no need for fear. Cover eyes, please."

She smiled teasingly, sealing her lips until every pair of eyes was dutifully obscured with the filmy blindfolds. Sarah moved in to help her sisters as they moved among the sightless boys, gently but firmly taking each by the hand and leading them forward, strategically placing them at well spaced intervals in the circular area before taking position themselves and tying on their own blindfolds..

"When I am to start you, you are to finding girls without seeing. If they are caught, girl will mark your cheek, and you earn _kiss!_ By end of game, in two of hours, three with _most_ mark earn top reward."

Being fully aware of exactly what kind of prize was on the line this time, the boys were suddenly eager to get started and collect as many kisses as they could in the time allotted.

"If any boy peeks, he will _no more play_. And will not play **next** night." She warned sternly, knowing no one would dare cheating if it meant incurring such a harsh punishment. She stepped to the edge of the area, slickly moving out of the way of the already windmilling arms and widely reaching hands.

" _ **Begin now!**_ " She called into the humming tension and palpable air of intense concentration.

She bit her lip to hold in a laugh as the better part of thirty blind boys began to shamble and stagger around drunkenly, searching the air in front of them with their grasping finger tips. There was a multi-person pile up almost immediately, a crash that resulted in a wild tangle of flailing limbs and impressive cursing as the victims tried wildly to free themselves. On the other side of the clearing, Ben had groped his way over to the treeline and gotten his hands on an equally blind George. Smiling identical idiotic smiles, the boys pulled each other close and connected in a sloppy kiss before either realized that they had not, in fact, connected with one of the sought after targets.

There was suddenly a lot of cursing from that side of the space too, as well as spitting and accusatory insults from both.

Satisfied that things were well in hand Althea slipped away, heading back to the comforting solitude of the house in the woods to wait. Halfway there she realized she was being followed and stopped in her tracks, heaving a deep, disappointed sigh.

"You should stay with others. I cannot give you what you seek."

Alby stepped out from the cover of the brush, the blindfold he'd neglected to secure hanging limply from his fingers.

"How do you know what I seek?" Alby challenged, trying to seem calm and mature despite his hammering heart. "At the moment I'm not looking for anything more than the pleasure of your company, a chance to talk and spend some time with you. Is that so _wrong_?"

"This is not healthy, for leader to follow me. Go back, stay with _others_. Play with my rebenok."

"I'd rather stay with you." He replied softly.

"Please." She tried, her tone low and sad now. " _Please_ , do not make difficult, for you...for _me_."

"I'm a big boy." Alby reminded, standing his ground. "I go where I like, when I like. Tonight, I'd like to go with you. I'm asking for some casual conversation, not your hand in marriage."

"As you wish, then." She snapped, the words sharp from her irritation. " _Tonight_ , you may follow."

Alby quick-stepped to her side, the teeth of his wide grin gleaming white in his dark face.

"So, where are we going?" He asked cheerfully, clearly not put off by her frustration, effortlessly keeping pace with the woman's long, ground eating strides.

"To only place with bit of... _privacy_." She replied vaguely, cutting through the maze of foliage as though she'd spent years memorizing every tree and shrub in the forest. In very short order they stood in front of Adrian's little house. She sent the visibly nonplussed boy a withering glance, sure that the tangible, undeniable connection would shake the boy's affection enough to have him running back to the others. Alby surprised her, shouldering through his discomfort and following her into the dwelling, waiting silently as she lit candles and made herself at home.

"It's...kind of Adrian to give you access to his home. Do you come here often?" Alby said, making the words as easy and careless as he could. The irritating, niggling little voice in the back of his head cursed the stupidity of the question, reminding him that he was fully aware of the answer. Louder yet though was the more hopeful, wishful part of his brain, steadfastly pushing the reality aside and happily willing to remain ignorant. He chose to believe that the lovely woman in front of his eyes was truly a separate entity from the usual occupant of the building. Althea saw the struggle of the conflicting concepts on Alby's face, and couldn't help but to soften towards him.

"I am welcome to use when I wish, I was told. The man and I have... _understanding_ , you see?"

Alby nodded agreeably, seating himself at the table and waiting for...

 _What, exactly? I didn't exactly plan to make it this far; what now?_

The woman had apparently already considered this, retrieving a small bundle off a high shelf before joining him at the table. Shrugging off her cloak, she arranged herself in the chair across from him and unrolled a square of leather, laying it flat on the wooden surface. Upending a wooden pouch, she sent dozens of small carved figures rolling across the mat. The woman began to set the pieces up in four tidy rows and Alby looked closer, noting that the treated hide had been marked with a symmetrical grid pattern; it was a game board.

"If you will not stay with others and play, we will play _different_ game. Game of strategy, of skill, of cunning. Is called chess." She said with a gleam in her eye, explaining the rules and basic premise of the game as succinctly as possible. They did a short mock game so that she could demonstrate how the various pieces could maneuver around the board, outlining the fundamentals of game play. Alby, being highly intelligent, grasped the information quickly; they reset the board together and began an actual game in earnest.

Alby took great care to consider his moves, trying to calculate the best way to defend his more valuable pieces with a minimum of other losses. Althea sat and waited patiently, watching him through the lacy black of her mask, her amusement glinting in her eyes. She would barely glance at the board before making her moves, striking with a cold brutality before pulling back, teasingly playing with him as a cat might with an injured rat.

"Where did you learn to play?" He asked, part from curiosity, part to stall for time. The woman deliberated for a moment before answering.

" _Mama_ taught me, when I was very small. She would tell to me, 'Greatest weapon is not body – is **min** d. Out think your enemies and war may be won with little blood.'"

"That sounds like excellent advice. Where is she now?"

Althea turned her face away quickly, but not before Alby caught a glimpse of the old pain and sorrow on her face.

"I'm sorry Althea, I didn't...I _shouldn't_ have..."

"Is old wound." She spoke so low it was almost a whisper, her eyes still averted. The game lay neglected between them. "Many, many year ago. And _still_ , I ache for her. _Why?_ "

Alby rose from his seat and went to her, wrapping his arms around her and just holding her. She leaned her head against his chest, taking comfort from the undemanding embrace. She lingered as long as she dared before easing away, gently nudging him back. He brushed her tousled hair off her face with tender, feather light fingers, trying to soothe away her distress. She took his hand and squeezed it once in silent thanks before gesturing him back to his seat.

"I am fine. You did not come here for this."

"I came here to get to know _you_ better." Alby countered, gingerly moving his last bishop into an attack position that looked to be safe. "Do you have _anyone_ waiting for you? Other family?"

Her knight swept over and took out his bishop, and he struggled to stifle a curse at the loss.

"My rebenok, of course."

"No one else? Is no one waiting for you?" He pushed. She hesitated.

"I... _.Ghosts_. Only ghosts who wait for me at end of last day. One day, perhaps soon, I get to be with them again. I will kiss _Mama_ and _Otets_ , take their hands. I wait for day this happens. "

"You're talking about dying." Alby sat back, stunned. "You're...looking forward to death?"

Her smoky laugh was full of pity, an adult shaking their head at a clueless child.

"Why would I not, when I know what waits for me?"

" _You can't think like that!_ " Alby cried, angry and upset at the thought. "Life is _so much more_ than just waiting for death! We're here, we're **alive** , and we have to fight to **stay** that way! The glade isn't much but it's all we have; you can stay here, with _**us**_. We'll keep you safe, take care of you. Be your _**new**_ family." He stressed. "When we get out – "

"You know I cannot." She chided. "You will get out. Boys too smart, too _strong_ to stay trapped forever. I...I will not be here to see it."

"You're just going to give in, give _up,_ not even _try?"_ He demanded harshly. "Death isn't the answer!" She smiled a knowing smile.

"There is old proverb; _'Smert' otvechayet do togo, kak yego sprosyat'._ It reads ' _Death answers before it is asked_.' I do not need ask, I know it will answer soon enough."

"We need you! The gladers, the _girls_...the games! We _need_ you here!"

"You do not." She stated firmly. "Others can finish what I have started."

"But..."

"Already begins." She said, waving off his denial. "Sarah learns quickly; already she takes the front, leads other girls. She will take my place. One, perhaps two learning nights more, _no more need_ of me to be here."

"I...I need you."

"My rebenok will take care of you. Is for the better."

"For the better." He said faintly, disdainfully. "Tell me then, _Althea_ – if death is your answer, if you abandoning us is for the _better,_ why did you even come here in the first place?"

"You had need of me then. My task is near complete. Your lives, they go on. In time, you will forget me, as is best."

"I'll never forget you." He vowed, his fists clenched on the table as he pushed himself to his feet. "If I live to be a _hundred,_ I'll **never** forget you. And I'll be _shucked_ if I'm just going to stand here and let you _**die!**_ "

He swept out of the house in an admirably dramatic fashion, slamming the door shut behind him. Althea shook her head, looking down at the unfinished game a bit wistfully. She reached down after brooding for a moment and knocked her king over, peeling her mask off and getting up to undress.

Sitting on the bed to pull off the tall thin socks and leather boots, Adrian breathed a sigh of relief. The wig came off next, followed by the tightly laced leather around his rib cage. The loose, flowy shirt was up around his ears when a hard tapping sounded at the door. Cursing under his breath, he frantically pulled the top back in place, the overly wide neck falling off one shoulder as he jammed the wig back on to his head. Rapidly shifting back into character, unable to do more with her appearance in such a short time, Althea pulled the door open and tried as best as she could to block the view into the house with her body.

" _Yes?_ What is it?"

Jeff stood, his fist raised to knock again, his mouth agape at the sight.

Her dark mane of hair tumbled and curled around her face in wild disorder, trailing down to the bagging neck of the thin top, exposing far more skin that was usual for her. Her skirt was mildly askew, he legs and feet were bare, and her face...her face beneath the tangles of hair was shockingly naked, bereft of the mask she was never seen without. Just visible behind her was the corner of a rumpled bed, her discarded boots on the floor...and a pair of Adrian's jeans, messily tossed on the end of the sofa.

Jeff just about swallowed his tongue.

"I, _gah_ , I m-mean I, uh, that _is_..."

"What does healer need?" She asked tersely, annoyance radiating from her. He started to back away slowly, his hands spread open in front of him.

"It's _nothing_ , nothing important. I, _uh_ , was just going to ask _Adrian_ if, that is..."

"He is...not _available_ now." She said, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a hip.

Jeff thought his head might pop from the sudden rush of blood to his face.

"Yeah, okay, that's okay, I'll just, you know, ask him later. I'm just gonna..."

He turned and fled, crashing into the night forest with the speed of the desperate. Althea closed the door behind her and latched it, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wood in hopes of easing the pounding headache behind her eyes.

 _What a night._

* * *

The next afternoon, as the man put his back into some old fashion physical labor, he was already dealing with the fallout from Jeff's impromptu late night visit to his home. _Forget cheetahs and falcons_ , Adrian thought drolly as he sweat his way through building a sturdy goose enclosure at the bloodhouse. _Write off stealth bombers and guided missiles. The fastest moving thing known to man is a juicy bit of gossip in a small community._

He'd arrived for breakfast at a fairly early hour but even so, the nattering had already begun. Stifled chuckles and sly looks were thrown his way before he could fill his plate. Frypan winked at him as he dished out his morning meal, heaping the tin dish higher than normal and gleefully starting right in.

"You could prob'ly use it this morning, seens as you had such an... _exhausting_ night."

Knowing better than to respond, Adrian nodded his thanks and made his way over to sit with Newt and the other runners. Three different gladers got up and punched him in the shoulder in a congratulatory way before he got there. Others looked faintly embarrassed, while a few tried and failed to mask expressions of envy. He plopped down next to Newt with a grunt, not needing to look at Minho to know the keeper was wearing a wide, ecstatic grin.

" _Hail_ , the conquering hero!" Minho crowed, lifting his jar in mock salute. "I'm sure it was a hard fought battle, but you managed to emerge with all your limbs intact! Or, _at least_ , all the ones we can _see_..."

The others around them howled with delight, Newt the only one abstaining. Adrian flashed a toothy smile with his response.

"All present and accounted for. Thanks for your concern."

"If that's true, you must have asked her to be gentle." Minho said solemnly, to another chorus of laughter. He leaned closer. "So... _was she?_ "

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

The others started complaining and shoving, trying to cajole the man into sharing details. He sat placidly through it, eating his breakfast and trying not to laugh at the sheer oddness of some of the questions and comments being thrown his way. Newt was sitting very still beside him, engrossed in studying the last few mouthfuls left on his plate.

"You okay kid? You're strangely quiet." He asked neutrally.

"What? Yeah, _fine_ , just thinking...just thinking."

"Something wrong?"

" _Nnnnnno_. No. It's nothing."

"Alright. I'll be at the bloodhouse today, if you need me for anything." He commented easily, deciding to leave well enough alone for now. He figured he'd ferret out the root of Newt's dejected expression after the evening meal, when there was less of an audience. He had a pretty good guess as to why the kid was upset but hoped that, given a little time to absorb the implications, the now widely heard rumors might actually turn out to be beneficial. If he thought Adrian was involved with someone else, he'd be more likely to move on himself.

While Winston and the other slicers weren't fully sold on the idea of caring for a gaggle of geese, Adrian was pretty sure that he'd been able to convince them to at least give it a try. Cutting and shaping the branches for the sturdy cage took up a chunk of his morning, anchoring them into the ground and thatching the skeletal framework of the roof bled over into the afternoon. He'd moved on to creating the swinging gate and simple latch when Alby strolled over to inspect his work.

"Building a jail for toddlers?" He quipped, his dark eyes shrewd.

"Worse." The man replied with a grin. "Foul, honking _demons_ – better known as geese. Keeping a dozen or so should, properly managed, give you guys a nice steady supply of meat and boost the number of eggs for the kitchen too. Win-win."

" **You** guys?"

" _Yeah_." Adrian winced lightly at the unspoken bite to the words, scratching at the back of his neck where sweat had trickled and dried. He glanced around briefly to see if anyone was within earshot but one of the benefits of working at the bloodhouse was how spread out the layout was – the closest pen was too far away for eavesdropping, and there was only one small shed directly between the new enclosure and the main building, providing a fairly clear view of the area should anyone happen to approach. It was well past time for this conversation, and the man wasn't looking forward to it.

"Planning on going somewhere?" Alby asked coolly, eyes sharp.

"You already know the answer to that." Adrian reminded, bending over and securing the gate in place. "The way I see it, it's surprising they've let me stay as long as I have. The biggest projects and improvements are already done; all that's left is fine tuning, and you don't need me for that. I'm expecting a summons any time now."

"And you'll just go quietly, say your goodbyes and walk right into their hands, be the _good little sheep_ , ready for the slaughter?" Embers of anger crackled in Alby's voice, making it difficult for the man to resist responding in kind.

"There's no way around it." Adrian responded evenly, gathering his tools and looking the leader right in the eyes. "I told you from the beginning - I'm _temporary_ , and it's almost time to punch my card and clock out. I explained all this to you before, I don't much care to do it again." He walked over to the shed to stow the implements, Alby hot on his heels.

"Well, you _can't_ always get what you _want_ , can you?" Alby sneered a little, venting his spleen at the situation on the only handy target. Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, standing as rigid as the walls that surrounded them.

"You think I want this?" He asked, deadly calm. "That I _want_ what comes next?"

"I think you're a _coward_ , blindly accepting something that **hasn't even happened yet** instead of trying to change _what may be_. Where's your _bravado_ , singing to the guys to boost their spirits, to fill them with the urge to **fight back** , _whatever it takes?_ What of the _hope_ you've been nagging me about, the _hope_ they all _**need**_ to keep them going?"

"Of course I still have _hope_. But when you stand at the gallows with the noose around your neck, the **best** you can hope for is a quick end."

"Like **shuck**. It ain't over 'til it's _over_. You give up now – "

Adrian dropped his tools with a clatter, whirling and marching over until he was nose to nose with the furious leader. Caught in the heat of the moment, neither of them heard the approaching footsteps.

"I hate to _break_ it to you, but it **IS** over." Adrian growled, his own temper in full swing. "Take a bow, say **goodnight**. There's exactly **two** ways out – _death_ , or _horrific torture_ _ **and then**_ _death_. I know which one they want, and you can bet your ass I'll be doing my best not to give it to them." Adrian snarled, his expression fierce. "I'll slit my own throat before playing their game!"

"Not gonna happen." The words were low and angry, but Alby's voice shook just a little, betraying him. "We'll figure _something_ out. Fake your death here, hide you away until we can find a way out." Adrian just laughed bitterly at the idea.

"They'll see through that in a heartbeat. And when they start killing you off, _one by one?_ When the choice has to be made, _your lives_ or _mine?_ Do you **really** expect me to hide under a bush and watch you die **for me?** "

"They wouldn't." Confident words in an unsure tone.

"Of course they will." Adrian scoffed.

"You think this is some _fairy tale_ , some moralistic children's story? You think with enough _grit_ and _heart_ we can manufacture a happy ending for everyone, skip off into the sunset and leave the darkness behind?" The man smiled contemptuously at the idea, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "I hate to _break it_ to you, fearless leader, but we happen to live in the **real world** , not some overly simplified happy picture book for preschoolers. And the **ugly truth** of the real world is that sometimes there is _no happy ending_. Sometimes there is _no way out_. You fight and _bleed_ and struggle, you give _everything_ to protect the people you care about, and **guess what?** Sometimes the assholes **win** and you end up _dying anyways._ "

" **There has to be a way!** " Alby shouted, his face screwed up in anger and determination.

"There is. **My** way." Adrian stated righteously. " _When_ the end comes for me, it comes by _my own hand_. It's **my** choice, **my** right. And it's the only thing I have left."

He scooped up the scattered bits he'd discarded during the heated exchange and ducked into the shed, storing them neatly, his tense shoulders falling into a slump of acceptance.

"Death comes for everyone, eventually." The man said with a grim note of finality in his voice. "What defines us is how we greet it when it knocks on our door."

Alby hung on to a support post weakly, trying to process the macabre sentiment. Unseen, a solitary figure sprinted out from behind the hut, the warm sunlight glinting off his blonde hair as he tried to escape from the the horror of what he'd overheard.

* * *

Author's note ~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	45. Silence

Author's note ~

*Warning; one very minor spoiler for a small part of "The Fever Code"*

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Alby hung on to a support post weakly, trying to process the macabre sentiment. Unseen, a solitary figure sprinted out from behind the hut, the warm sunlight glinting off his blonde hair as he tried to escape from the the horror of what he'd overheard._

* * *

Newt ran blindly, streaking past the council hall and the slammer, skirting the box and the med hut and plunging into the thick growth of trees blanketing the south west corner of the glade. His breath hitched and shuddered as he shoved through walls of shrubs and knots of tall thin saplings, his rapid heartbeat roared in his head as he hurdled fallen trees. He veered away from Adrian's house, wanting nothing to do with the place at the moment, splashing through the wide shallow stream and pushing on until his legs burned like molten iron. He broke through a stand of brush and and stumbled over the loosely mounded earth of a grave, hitting the ground with a bone jarring jolt. Trembling all over, he raised himself to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

He found himself in the deadwoods; graveyard for the fallen.

Moving like a jerky marionette he crawled over to where the great stone walls met, the crisp corner all but buried by the mass of ivy blanketing the pitted surface. He collapsed more than sat, leaning back into the parasitic plant's cool gentle embrace, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his head in his arms.

 _It couldn't be true. It couldn't._

Everything had been fine. More than fine, actually. The runners hadn't found anything new in the last few weeks, but that was honestly nothing out of the norm. Life in the glade had been steadily improving – better sanitation, better quality of food, all around better morale from the boys, especially with the periodic visits from the girls. Really, everything was going better now that it ever had before.

 _How could this be happening?_

His shoulders tensed as he struggled to hold in the shattered sobs that were trying to force their way out, his lungs burning from the pressure. His stomach churned greasily and he fought the urge to throw up.

Adrian wasn't just leaving, he was going to die. Take his own life, kill himself before their jailers could do worse; on that he'd been abundantly clear. If he left – when he left – he'd be leaving with only one goal in mind. Death.

As horrible, as hideous, as painful as the revelation was, that information wasn't what sent Newt into hysterical flight.

 _You fight and bleed and struggle, you give everything, and guess what? You end up dying anyways._ Newt thought desolately, his mind a jumbled black abyss, the bits and pieces of what he'd overheard swirling and colliding in his head. _There is no happy ending. It's already over. There's exactly two ways out – death; or misery, pain and death._

What broke him wasn't the inevitability of loosing the man. He choked on the thought of Adrian deceiving them, encouraging them to fight pointlessly when he himself believed – when he knew – there was only one true way out of the maze. It was the final blow that finally shattered Newt's slippery grasp on hope, extinguishing the fragile flame and leaving him cold, cold, cold.

Adrian lied. He lied about them getting out, about believing they even had a chance to get out.

 _You think this is some fairy tale, some children's story?_

He turned and dry heaved into the grass, his body futilely trying to void an already empty stomach.

 _You think we can skip off into the sunset and leave the darkness behind?_

He moaned and keened, desperate to escape from the hideousness of it all.

He frantically tugged on the plants around him and burrowed into the unkempt vines, twisting and shoving until he was completely hidden behind the trailing tendrils and shiny green leaves.

Adrian was already gone, out of reach, as good as dead. His plan of gaining enough experience to one day change Adrian's mind had started to collapse the moment he'd heard about the man's 'meeting' with Althea, but a stubborn little part of him had remained dead set on trying. Now he'd never get the chance. Adrian was going off to his death, leaving them here to suffer and struggle.

Leaving Newt.

Leaving them alone, with no handy adult to pin their hopes on.

Leaving them to die.

He felt like the anger, the pain, the desolation of it all might actually physically crush him into the ground.

 _Death comes for everyone._

 _My choice, my right. The only thing I have left._

* * *

Newt didn't show up for dinner that night. Unfortunately, Adrian was too locked in his own swirling mess of irritation and frustration to notice, or to look for the boy. He ate his meal standing up and disappeared as soon as his plate was clean. Closed behind the heavy door of his home he devoted himself to a new project, sorting through his box of scavenged beetle blade pieces and muttering angrily as he pulled out everything he thought he could use.

 _Kids! God_ _ **save**_ _me from hard headed, short sighted, stubborn friggin'_ _ **kids!**_

 _Does he not_ _ **think**_ _, for one damn second, there if there were_ _ **any other**_ _goddamn way out, I'd see it and take it?_

 _Does he not_ _ **realize**_ _that this is hard enough as it is, without his useless hero act, making me feel worse.?_

 _It's not like I want this!_

He pawed through the tiny wires and circuit boards, fishing out a memory chip and holding it up in front of a candle to study it. Rigid wall, solid circuits sealed under a stiff plastic casing, marked with a tiny number that indicated ample storage space. It could work, quite nicely in fact. Barely the size of his pinky finger nail with undamaged, easily accessible contact points, he could utilize this and trust it to maintain its integrity over time. He studied the fine wires dangling from the back of the shuttered lens, painstakingly removed from the metal beast's 'head', using his knife to carefully strip the ends of the thicker wires to expose their interior. Copper, and in remarkably good shape. Easy to work with.

 _Did I not make it completely –_ _ **excruciatingly**_ _– clear that they're just waiting to get their hands on me, eager to see how much pain they can inflict before I break?_

 _How can anyone, anyone expect me to willingly choose that over death? Especially when I_ _ **know**_ _that the torment will only end when death takes me?_

 _How much do they think I can_ _ **take**_ _?_

Using a pair of tweezers he'd liberated from the med hut he picked at a visibly loose piece of solder on a broken board, pulling it free and holding it over the candle's flame until it started to drip. As delicately as he could, he used the recycled metal to connect a partially cracked power switch and a tiny led light to the sturdy square housing unit that contained the machine's micro recording hardware. Cursing as he singed his fingers, he worked slowly and cautiously, completing circuits and attaching pieces until his franken-device was fully assembled. Now he just needed a power source.

 _This isn't a nightmare, a bad dream I can shake myself awake from. I'm not going to suddenly sit up safe and sound in bed, heart pounding, only to realize that none of this was real._

 _This place isn't the product of someone's imagination; a dark world locked in the pages of an old horror story. There's not going to be a handy twist at the end, where the protagonist gets to the monster just in time to kill it and save his friends from a gruesome end._

 _In the real end, a gruesome end is_ _ **more** l_ _ikely than not. Especially nowadays._

He carefully picked up a couple of odd looking bits from his window sill; high efficiency solar receptors, also removed from the beetle blade, jury rigged onto heavy cylindrical power cells. One of the batteries had been too damaged to save but the other two had remained intact, missed by the razor edge of his knife when it pierced the tough body. They'd been sitting in the sun for days; if they weren't sufficiently charged by now, they'd never be able to store enough energy to accomplish his goal. He held his breath as he connected his creation's main power wires to the terminals on the batteries and flicked the power switch to the on position.

He felt a great wash of relief when he heard the shutter opening and closing, trying to focus, and the distinctive click-click-click of the device automatically checking the various slots, attempting to identify a storage location. The tiny digital display glowed, waking up.

 _It's alive!_ He thought smugly.

He picked through the remnants of the box until he'd unearthed another few memory chips, just in case he made a mistake and fried one on the first attempt. Using an empty jar as a make-shift magnifying glass, he read the minute printing on the side of the housing unit, eventually finding an incredibly fine hole by the last slot that was labelled 'erase all'. Excited, he inserted one chip into the first available slot, noting on the readout that the device quickly identified the viable chip and showed it was almost eighty percent full. He smoothly slid a hair fine section of broken wire into the erase all hole, hoping.

A faint beep sounded from the device, and the readout on the screen changed. Now it said 'CARD EMPTY'.

Yes, this would work very well indeed.

* * *

Newt, pale and drawn, surfaced for breakfast. He ate slowly and without any real enjoyment, though the food itself was a scrumptious offering; generous portions of fluffy scrambled eggs and thick hand sliced bacon. Minho could tell right away something was wrong and worked to cheer him up, trying to suck him into an ongoing joke of an argument he had with Ben over the importance of always wearing clean runnies. Newt just shook his head and refused to get involved. He accepted his lunch bag from Frypan with barely a nod of thanks, ignored Minho's sarcasm and bad jokes, and hurled himself into the proverbial belly of the beast. His old, cynical mantra ran through his thoughts.

 _Stone walls and ivy. Stone walls and ivy. Bloody stone walls and bloody, buggering ivy._

He moved on autopilot; his legs knew the way. He'd run this exact pattern many, many times before. His body moving on its own, he ran through the unforgiving, callous and, right now, somehow comforting heartlessness of the maze. When he got to the end of his section he leaned against the wall with his hands pressed flat against the cold, uninviting stone, his head drooping. After lingering longer than was strictly wise he turned and started back, leaving with an odd sense of disappointment he'd never experienced before.

Stumbling back into the glade, he made his way to the map room and completed his daily schematic as quickly as he could. He didn't bother to put his usual care and attention into creating straight lines or accurate proportions; once finished, he had no desire to doodle even a single line. He excused himself before all of the day's runners even made it back, escaping from the searching gaze of his friend and keeper, unable to stand even one more minute trapped in the confines of the cold metal building. The map room was beginning to feel like a coffin, patiently waiting for those inside to accept the fact that they were already dead.

He headed back to the deadwoods, sitting beside young Eric's grave and thinking heavy thoughts.

Maybe his lost friend had had the right idea, after all.

Newt didn't show up for dinner that night either, burrowing back into his little nest of ivy as the light faded softly into the indigo of night.

Of the three days that followed, each proceeded in an almost identical way. They were so similar, in fact, that it felt almost like he was actually living the same day over and over again. He saw his friends and absently noted their growing concern – but he just didn't have the energy care.

After his second night in the deadwoods he found he'd reached a point where all he could feel was a cloying numbness; no usual tingle of nerves skittered up his spine when he ran the maze, no amusement curved his lips when the other gladers goofed around during meals, even the vastly improved food had no particular taste. Everything had faded into a uniform kind of dullness, and Newt found himself vaguely grateful. It hurt less to be this way.

Tired of watching his friend drag himself along vacantly, Minho finally snapped and called him out as he was trying to leave after yet another lackluster day.

"What's gotten into you lately?" He demanded after pulling the listless Newt out of the map room, away from where the others busily worked. "You don't smile, you don't laugh, you _barely_ talk. Your maps look like a greenie banged a stick against a wall and called it art. You're, like, the walking dead or something."

 _We all are_ , Newt thought apathetically, _the rest of you just haven't figured it out yet._

"I've just...had a lot on my mind." Newt said tonelessly, knowing the boy would keep pestering him unless he gave some kind of response.

"Yeah, I figured that out **all** on my own." Minho responded sarcastically, his concern for his friend warring with the weight of his responsibility as keeper. "And yeah, everyone's entitled to an off day _here or there_ – but you **can't** go slackin' on your maps. We'll **never** stand a chance of figuring out the maze if the maps aren't _consistent._ "

Newt felt a faint flicker; it took him a moment to realize it was anger.

"What _difference_ does it make?" He challenged, more life in his voice than he'd shown in days, the other runners turning their heads to look as the exchange heated up. "You and I **both know** that we're beating out heads against a brick wall – running the same patterns, over and over and **over** again, hoping that _today_ 's the day that something changes? Praying for that 'Hallelujah' moment? Bloody hell, it's a _miracle!_ There's suddenly a way out, follow me lads! **Yeah,** right." He sneered bitterly at the thought, his words cruel and harsh.

Minho gave him a little shove to move him away from the open door, kicking the thick metal closed to give them some privacy. Then he got right up in Newt's face.

" **What** is your shuckin' problem, _hey?_ " He growled, nose to nose with the blonde. "What's the _number one rule_ in the map room, shank? You should remember it, **you're** the one who _made_ it! _Never lose it in front of the other runners_ ; if you gotta blow it off, do it somewhere else. You want to start 'em panicking? Make 'em lose hope? We'll **NEVER** find a way out if we don't **KEEP LOOKING!** "

"Almost two bloody years and **still** no answers? _Yeah_ , I'd say the hope is long since **gone!** " Newt snarled back, his face red with pique. "This whole thing is nothing more than some buggering sick joke! If we haven't found it by **NOW** then there is no...no way out." His voice cracked on the sentiment, shattering Minho's anger and showing him just how fractured his friend had become. He placed his hands firmly on Newt's shoulders, holding on when the discouraged boy would have pushed him away.

"Listen...you're burnt, I _get it._ We all get there sometimes." Minho tried, giving his friend a gentle shake to emphasize his point. "Take a couple of days for a breather, get it out of your system. You're _one of_ the best runners we've got, and you **ARE** the best map maker. We can't afford to lose you. When you get your head back on straight, think things over, I bet you'll be chompin' at the bit to get back out there and prove everything you just said _dead wrong_. Until then...you're off the active list."

Newt jerked himself free of Minho's grasp at the words, his eyes stormy and remote.

"You're my _friend_ , Newt." Minho added curtly, "I'm not going to stand by and watch you get yourself killed 'cause you're in the middle of a _pity party_. If you keep running when your head's not in the game, the maze'll _chew you up_ and _spit you out_. **Not on my time**."

Newt turned on his heel and walked away without a word of protest, an act so unlike the boy he knew and admired that it left Minho shaken. His gut told him that something was seriously wrong with his best friend; when Newt once again failed to show up to dinner, Minho stormed over to Alby right away.

" _I need to talk to you about Newt_." He hissed the second he saw the darker boy, carelessly interrupting a mildly tense exchange between the leader and Adrian, refusing to acknowledge the man at all in his urgency.

Alby cocked a brow at the passionate statement and followed the keeper to a slightly more secluded spot, leaving Adrian to puzzle over the odd statement on his own.

Thinking back through the haze of the last few days, Adrian came to the sudden uncomfortable realization that they boy hadn't been around much at all lately. He winced a little as he mulled things over. He'd been so engrossed in his own projects, so focused on the delicate and time consuming aspects of his own work that he'd been neglecting a number of other areas, and the thought of that shamed him. He couldn't remember speaking with the boy even once since the day the crude rumors had started, and decided to correct that oversight here and now. _Something must be seriously off if even Minho the oblivious is worried,_ he thought. Leaving the boys to their talk, he immediately headed off in search of Newt.

"Something's _wrong_." Minho proclaimed, jumping right in the second they were alone. "He's miserable, unresponsive, distant...it's like he's totally given up. I figured he'd snap out of it sooner or later, but something about the way he's talking is...It's giving me the _heebie jeebies_." He confessed. "I took him off duty for a couple of days and he didn't even argue about it, he just walked away! I don't think he's in the right mindset to run right now."

"What do you want to do?" Alby asked instantly, his own growing concern ratcheting up a notch.

"Keep an eye on him for me, will ya?" Minho requested. "See if you can give him busy work or something, maybe...some small job that puts him working closely with the others? I'm just getting this feeling...I don't think it's a good idea to give him too much time _alone_ right now, ya know?" Minho didn't dare to say the words out loud, but Alby got the message loud and clear, nodding gravely.

"Absolutely. Consider it done."

* * *

Adrian made his way through the trees easily; at a casual glance his posture might indicate he was out for a leisurely stroll, but his eyes cut back and forth rapidly, vigilantly searching for his quarry.

There was no sign of the boy around his house, nor at the small stream or swimming hole. Following a weird hunch he approached the deadwoods, respectfully stepping around the graves that dotted the barren ground. Someone had clearly been here recently – the soft dirt was disturbed in a number of places, but there were no obvious signs of the boy. He was skirting around the outer edge of the little graveyard, not wanting to linger and disturb the dead, when his sweeping gaze caught sight of the toe of a well worn shoe peeking out from the tangled lump of greenery in the corner. He approached slowly, crouching in front of the lump of foliage.

"You'd be a master at hide-and-seek, kid, except for **one** little thing..."

He tapped a finger on the toe of the shoe, which promptly disappeared into the ivy.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

A faint rustling of leaves, but no answer. Choosing to take this as consent, he turned and made himself comfortable against the wall. Sitting in silence, he had a sudden vivid memory flash of a similar situation; them sitting together under a tree with their relative positions reversed, Newt offering unconditional companionship as he himself worked through the grief and misery that was threatening to consume him. His heart squeezed.

Even if he ignored everything that had happened in the time since, how could he do less?

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" He asked gently.

No answer.

Recognizing this particular brand of silence and knowing better than to push, he contemplated how best to proceed. A faint hint of a smile crossed his face. He opened his mouth and started to sing in a low, mellow voice.

.

 _Hello darkness, my old friend_

 _I've come to talk with you again_

 _Because a vision softly creeping_

 _Left its seeds while I was sleeping_

 _And the vision that was planted in my brain_

 _Still remains_

 _Within the sound of silence_

 _._

The ivy trembled and quaked beside him; he took it as a good sign.

.

 _In restless dreams I walked alone_

 _Narrow streets of cobblestone_

 _'Neath the halo of a street lamp_

 _I turned my collar to the cold and damp_

 _When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light_

 _That split the night_

 _And touched the sound of silence_

 _._

There was a warmth and a pressure at his side; Newt leaning toward him, drawn closer by the music.

.

 _And in the naked light I saw_

 _Ten thousand people, maybe more_

 _People talking without speaking_

 _People hearing without listening_

 _People writing songs that voices never share_

 _And no one dared_

 _Disturb the sound of silence_

 _._

The shoulder touching his began to hitch in a telling way, though the boy made no sound.

"Whatever's going on, whatever you're feeling... _you're not in this alone_." Adrian reminded in a carefully non-judgmental voice. "Alby, Minho...me. _Lean on_ _us;_ we're here for you. Whatever this is, we'll get through it."

Newt's head dropped onto Adrian's shoulder and the man felt a dampness start to seep into his shirt. He didn't object, didn't consider pushing Newt away, resisted the urge to pull the boy closer. He simply sat and waited while Newt let it out, quivering and shaking beside him. They stayed there, passing the time in silence until the shadows grew long and the boy had finally calmed. Slowly and with no sudden movements, Adrian reached over and squeezed Newt's knee in a friendly way, easing away until he could groan his way to a standing position. He stretched hugely, then held out a hand to where the boy still sat.

"It's getting late. What do you say, kid? My couch has got to be more comfortable than this wall."

His hand remained extended, an open invitation. Warm, strong, patient.

After a long, long moment Newt slowly reached out of the plants and took the hand, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. Adrian held on, pulling Newt in close and draping a comforting arm around his shoulders as he led the exhausted boy to the warmth – and safety – of home.

* * *

Newt slept a deep and dreamless sleep, cradled by the cushioned sofa and buried under a mountain of soft blankets. Awake early by years of conditioning, his eyes still closed, he could almost believe that things could actually stay this way. Maybe he'd just been over reacting, or maybe the whole thing had been nothing more than a hideous dream, a worst case scenario cooked up by his over-active imagination. Unfortunately, as his brain woke up it stubbornly insisted on facing the facts.

Rolling off the couch, he pulled his shoes on noiselessly so as to not disturb the man, still snoring lightly on the bed. He stepped over and just looked, drinking in the sight of Adrian, so peaceful in sleep. He reached out and gently touched the man's face, the contact light as a breath of air, remembering every ugly word he'd overheard.

 _My choice, my right._

Rather than anger or despair, a peculiar sense of acceptance washed over him. He slipped out of the house silently, tucking the image of Adrian into his memory and holding it tight.

Alby found him sneaking in to the cook house for an early meal and immediately shoe horned him into taking a round of check ups; a semi-frequent task that entailed going from keeper to keeper in search of status updates, progress reports and general complaints. Newt was pleasantly surprised with himself when he found he was able to speak with Alby and the others in a mostly normal fashion, even mustering a laugh at one of Zart's rare jokes during his few minutes at the farm. He finished up with the keepers by mid morning, taking care to find some small thing to say to each glader he passed.

With one more thing in mind he jogged out to the deadwoods once again, spending a little time kneeling by Eric's well tended grave, thinking of all the things he wished he could say to his lost friend.

Satisfied everything was in order, he squared his shoulders and quick stepped through the glade, heading directly for the Western gate. He walked through it without looking back, letting himself be swallowed by the twisting corridors of the maze. He heard a few people calling out, trying to hail him before he took those last steps, but he ignored them. Pacing himself and moving briskly, he navigated the familiar path with a specific goal in mind, taking turns without hesitation until he reached a long, straight empty section. The walls on both sides were coated in a thick network of ivy.

Taking a deep breath, he started to climb.

He pulled himself up, refusing to stop even when the ground started to swim dizzily below him and the muscles in his arms burned. Pushing himself higher and higher, he kept moving until some part of his brain warned him that he couldn't possibly go any further. He grit his teeth and managed another couple of feet before he gave up, holding tightly to the thick woody vines. Turning his face to get away from the tickle of the leaves he spotted the blinking red light of a beetle blade, hardly more than a hand's breadth away from his head. He felt a bubble of rage and disgust rise up inside him at the sight.

"I don't know who you people are, but I hope you're _happy._ " He spat, taking fast breaths to psych himself up. "I hope you get a **real bloody kick** out of watching us _suffer_. And then you can _die_ and go to _hell_. This is on **you!** "

Shaking from the toxic mess of emotions storming inside him, he closed his eyes for a second and thought of his friends.

The gladers.

Alby.

Minho.

And Adrian. Always Adrian.

His legs tensed and ready to kick off strongly from the wall, a farewell he'd never get to say on his lips, he let go of the vines and jumped.

* * *

Author's note ~

~ The song in this chapter is "The Sound of Silence" - Originally by Simon & Garfunkel, though my personal favorite version is done by Disturbed

~ The underlined dialogue is straight from James Dashner's book "The Fever Code" (with the exception of changing the word 'buggin' to 'bloody' in my version) and all rights to that section belong to him. No infringement intended.

~ I am not advocating suicide or any form of self harm in my work. If you or someone you know is in a dark place, I pray you can find the strength to hold on. If **at any time** you want to talk to someone, you can text **TALK** to 686868 (in Canada) or Text **MATTERS** to 741741 (in the US) at any hour, day or night. There's always someone there, waiting, in case you ever need them.

~Ruby


	46. Please

Author's note~ I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Shaking from the toxic mess of emotions storming inside him, he closed his eyes for a second and thought of his friends._

 _The gladers._

 _Alby._

 _Minho._

 _And Adrian. Always Adrian._

 _His legs tensed and ready to kick off strongly from the wall, a farewell he'd never get to say on his lips, he let go of the vines and jumped._

* * *

Newt being gone when Adrian woke didn't particularly surprise or alarm the man; life in the glade tended to start early. While he still felt a lingering concern over the Newt's abrupt nose dive into dejection and despair, he tried to brush it off, telling himself he had no right to nag at the boy. He applied himself to thinking his way through the previous evening, trying to rationalize Newt's actions.

Being held in captivity, being forced to face such a brutal and cruel challenge like the maze, having to live with the constant itch of not even knowing who you were before being sent here...the barbarism exerted upon these boys was truly astonishing. It was only reasonable to expect periodic bouts of depression, angst, despondency. While curious over what the possible trigger for the downswing in Newt's emotional state could have been, he assured himself that the therapeutic tears and access to palliative company would have eased the worst of the pressure. He'd offer his couch to the runner again tonight and, in a day or two, his friend would undoubtedly be back to his old self.

Feeling decidedly better about the whole situation after thinking it through, he proceeded with his normal morning routine. He had a quick breakfast, sitting and chatting breezily with his 'girls' before heading off to spend the rest of the morning in the med hut with Jeff and Clint. He was puttering around alone, going through his book and contemplating possible additions while he waited for the duo to return from a foraging trip when Alby poked his head through the door.

"Hey." He said, his manner still a little cool and reserved after their heated exchange a few days ago. "Newt been through yet?"

Adrian's eyebrows winged up at the question. He hadn't given Newt's absence that morning any real thought at all, assuming the boy had been slated to work the maze today.

" _Nnnnno?_ Should he have been?"

"Well, yeah. He's been doing the rounds today – checking in with all the keepers, getting updates, that kind of thing." Alby answered before taking a quick glance around, looking for eavesdroppers. He dropped his voice, just in case. "He's been kind of...down, lately. He's been pulled from the active running list until he's a bit more...stable."

"He was pretty wrecked last night when I found him." Adrian confessed, rubbing a hand over his face as he thought about it. "Once he'd evened out a bit, I took him to my place; he spent the night on my couch. He wasn't really in a _talking_ kind of mood – he just curled up and passed out – but it felt like he was through the worst of it. This morning, he was gone before I got up...I figured he'd be running today, so I didn't think much of it."

Jeff and Clint bustled in right about then, effectively cutting off the conversation.

"Hey, you guys see Newt today?" Alby demanded, trying and failing to hide his agitation.

"Yeah, he was headed out the West gate when we went by. Tried to get his attention; I wanted to ask him something, but he just kept on going. I don't think he heard me." Jeff informed them, moving to unload his hands and totally missing the pointed look Adrian and Alby shared. "Guess he got a late start; he must've been trying to make up for lost time. Why, did you need him?"

The alerted pair headed for the door immediately, ignoring Jeff's confused calls and questions. Alby peeled off first and ran straight to the map room, producing a rusted metal key that always hung on a string around his neck, carefully hidden under his shirt. Of everyone in the glade, Minho trusted only Alby with the spare key to the terribly important building, and had taken the time to walk the leader through the breakdown of the job and the layout of the storage trunks, just in case of emergencies. Alby hurriedly unlocked the heavy metal door, scurrying to the chest containing the maps he needed and grabbing a handful right off the top of the stack. Impatiently taking the time to lock the door behind him, he sprinted to the Western wall and found the man standing right at the entrance, his form almost vibrating with urgency as he waited on the threshold of the great yawning gate.

"I'm going after him. **Alone**." Alby asserted, shooting Adrian a burning look that instantly cut his protest off at the knees. "You've never been out there; _I have_. You'll just slow me down. I **need** you to stay _here_. If I don't make it back, it _something happens_...I need you _**here**_. You _have_ to take care of the others." Alby stated with a grim finality, locking eyes with Adrian, his face said so much more than his words.

Adrian swallowed shallowly, pushing down his snarling arguments, his gut screaming that they couldn't afford to waste time bickering about it. He nodded reluctantly, putting his faith in the leader's hands.

"I will. You have my word." Adrian promised gravely.

Alby turned and sped into the murky gloom of the maze, leaving Adrian behind to wait, watch...and worry.

Time dripped by sluggishly, each moment feeling like an eternity.

The light ever so slowly started to fade from the brilliance of afternoon into the softer warmth of early evening, and still Alby hadn't returned. Adrian fought to not pace, leaning against a tree on the outskirts of the forest and attempting to give off a relaxed air, despite his stomach knotting a little more with every minute that passed. A number of the other gladers trickled over and began hanging around, keeping him company, waiting with him. Some had seen their leader vanish through the gates with their own eyes while others had overheard the curious and worried mutterings, and they gathered in seemingly casual groups to keep an eye on the gate. As the light grew dimmer, more and more gladers took up the vigil.

* * *

Alby's heart thudded loudly as he made the first turn and the glade suddenly vanished behind him. Immediately panic threatened to set in as the walls appeared to lean in towards him, the sky nothing but a narrow strip of blue inconceivably high above him. It felt as though he was laying at the bottom of his own grave, hopelessly trapped and just waiting for the first shovel full of dirt to be thrown in and bury him alive.

Shuck, he hated being in here!

Back in the beginning when they were first stranded in this alien, hostile place, Alby had been one of the first to start exploring the maze. He'd never found anything of importance, never personally come face to face with the hideous creatures that haunted the labyrinth of stone and ivy.

But...

Just being out here, the utter quiet around him, his only company the sounds of his feet slapping the rock beneath his feet and the panting whoosh of his own breath...it was terribly eerie, and immensely unsettling. You felt as though you were being watched, every turn, every step, every hesitation being viewed by...something. He'd been (secretly) wildly thrilled when the original group of gladers had unanimously decided that the best way of handling the task of cataloguing and exploring the maze would be to turn it over to a specialized, carefully selected group. Nick, their old leader, had figured it was safer and more efficient to have a smaller, tighter unit work on the outside problems while everyone else focused on trying to make the glade more hospitable. He hadn't been out here since the runners took over, well over a year ago now, and the creeping fingers of fear and paranoia tickled the back of his neck and made him shiver violently.

He stopped dead in his tracks, closing his eyes for a few precious seconds.

He shook himself vigorously and grit his teeth, forcing down the fear and crippling claustrophobia by will alone. He had a job to do. He **HAD** to get to Newt, before his friend did something stupid or careless and got himself hurt – or worse. He straightened his back and held tight to his spine, opening his eyes and moving forwards with fiery purpose, shuffling through the maps in his hands as he followed the turns and twists. After a while it became glaringly apparent which map was accurate; he folded the unnecessary ones around his finger and tucked them carefully into his belt, studying the schematic detailing this section.

He moved faster and with much greater confidence after that.

He'd been navigating the maze for close to two hours before he came upon a long straight corridor, overgrown with ivy. A lumpy mass was was laying in the center of the stone hallway, motionless. As he got closer he could see it was a crumpled figure, a heap of a person with a very familiar mop of blonde hair.

" **Newt!** " Alby cried, running to his fallen friend, terrified of what he may find. Had he been stung? Had he been savaged by one of the monstrous grievers that ruled the maze with unequivocal impunity?

He fell to his knees, blanching at the pool of blood slowly spreading from the heap of tangled limbs that appeared to be all that was left of his old friend.

"Please, please, _please!_ " He begged. Reaching shaky hands out to turn Newt over, he was afraid to move him. He heard a rattling wheeze of air and saw Newt's chest moving slightly as his body struggled to breathe. Alby's heart rate slowed slightly – Newt wasn't dead. Battered, broken, bleeding – but not dead.

He looked closely at the bloody gash on Newt's head and queasily checked the freely bleeding wound on his leg, where a shard of broken bone had pierced through both skin and pants. It was a gruesome sight, and seeing it made his head spin a little.

It was bad. It was very, very bad.

Unfortunately, Alby knew next to nothing about how to deal with any of the injuries he could see, let alone how to check for other less obvious damage. He ripped a couple of strips from the bottom of his shirt and tied them tightly over the gory wounds, but the makeshift bandages bloomed with dark stains almost before he could knot the ends. Praying that it would be enough to keep him alive, he knew their only hope was to get back to the glade as quickly as he could. If he could deliver Newt into the hands of Jeff and Clint and Adrian...Maybe they'd be able to put him back together again.

Alby gingerly lifted Newt's dead weight, pulling the injured boy upright and looping a firm arm around his waist, grabbing the boy's cold hand and wrapping the rubbery arm around his own neck. Newt's head lolled bonelessly against his shoulder as, half-carrying, half-dragging his unconscious burden, Alby broke into a staggering run.

It felt like he was trying to run through sand while wearing lead boots. His heart drummed frantically, his chest heaving in ragged painful pants as sweat cascaded down his face in rivers and soaked through his shirt. Alby pushed every muscle to the limit as he doggedly lugged the limp form of Newt towards the safety of the glade. The sky grew dimmer and dimmer as he staggered around the seemingly endless corners and pushed through junctions without stopping.

An icy wave of terror crept down his spine, a little voice urgently whispered in his ear that he'd never make it in time. A tiny kernel of cowardice, the self-preservation instinct that exists in every soul, insisted that he leave Newt to the maze and get out before it was too late.

He ground his teeth together until they ached, pushing back against the shameful urge to abandon his friend, viciously crushing it out. Lurching clumsily, he gasped and groaned, refusing to stop moving.

 _Just a little farther._

He chanted the words in his head like a mantra, starting to feel a little dizzy from the strain.

 _Just a little farther._

He couldn't tell if the deafening roar he heard was the gates starting to close for the night, or just the sound of his own overworked heart thundering in his ears.

 _ **Just a little farther.**_

He rounded the last corner and saw the open welcoming green of the glade, tantalizingly close. He'd never been so happy to see the strict confines of their prison in his life! With a last heroic push of effort, he dragged his heavy burden through the gate and stumbled blindly back into the relative safety of their home. Their feet had hardly scraped from cold stone onto the softer brown dirt when the telltale grumblings of the gate mechanism sounded behind him. He expelled what little air was left in his lungs in a desperate call as soon as they were clear of the door.

"Medjack! **Medjack!** _I need a_ _ **medjack!**_ "

The hoarse scream split the tense silence of the glade, turning the air electric in an instant. All who had been nervously waiting instantly ran over, fearfully buzzing at the sight of their leader dragging a bloody, unconscious bundle away from the slowly closing gate. Adrian had been staring off into space, trying to mediate a little to keep himself calm and collected, when the wrenching cries hit him like a hammer in the gut.

Recognizing the limp figure, his heart simply stopped.

His feet raced forward before his mind caught up and he was one of the first to reach the pair; the leader, doubled over and gasping for breath, and the runner, pale and prone on the ground. Ignoring Alby for the moment, he dropped to his knees beside Newt, taking his thin wrist with trembling fingers. He let out an explosive breath when he found the weak, thready pulse, and heard the faint rattle of shallow breathing. His tunnel vision widened enough to take in the crowd that had gathered, and he started snapping out orders.

"Get me a ladder, and a blanket! **Now!** I need a couple of short branches! And belts! Strip 'em off, pass 'em forward! **Move it!** Go!"

Half a dozen belts were shoved at the man as a handful of boys ran off to get the other supplies. Using the thinnest belt to tie a rudimentary tourniquet above the wound on Newt's mangled leg in an effort to slow the steady bleeding, he spoke sharply to Alby.

"What the hell _happened_ to him?"

The exhausted boy had recovered enough to wheeze out an answer.

"I don't know...I just don't shuckin' know! He was just lying there in a bloody heap, not moving. Something must've _gotten_ him! I didn't see...I've **never** seen anything like _this_. Is he..." Alby trailed off, scared to ask. "Is he gonna _make it?"_

"He _better_." Adrian replied grimly, running his hands over Newt's forehead, pulling the cloth away and probing gently to check the severity of the gruesome wound. "If he checks out now, I'll never get a chance to kick his ass for taking such a **stupid** risk."

Alby let out a weak laugh at the sentiment, moving out of the way as two rugged builders hustled over with a short length of ladder. Clint and Jeff were close behind, bearing blankets and rough lengths of broken branches. Not stopping to explain, Adrian strapped the primitive splints to the obviously broken leg with another couple of belts, doing his best to stabilize it until he could get the boy to the office. He tossed a couple of the blankets over the coarse wood of the ladder to pad it a little.

"Cliff, Jeff, Alby, give me a hand. We need to lift him on to the ladder so we can carry him to the med hut. Clint, Alby, on my go, lift him up and over, as gently as you can. Jeff – you're on the leg. Don't let it dangle, keep it steady and move with us. Quick and smooth guys. On **three!** "

They all held their breaths as they transferred the maimed boy to the improvised stretcher. Adrian hurriedly strapped him to the supports, securing him in place.

"You two!" He ordered, pointing to the builders who's supplied the important piece of equipment. "Get him to the med hut! Now! Jeff, Clint, _with me!_ "

The man took off running, the medjacks right behind him. In the few minutes it took the nervous procession to follow them, they'd frantically prepared the office for major emergency care. Using the available muscle to make the transfer of Newt's damaged form to the exam table smoother, Adrian coolly dismissed the builders without a second thought. Alby was a little bit harder to get rid off. He fought to remain in the office while they worked, insisting he could help with something, demanding to stay. Despite his desperate arguments he ended up banished to the general care area of the med hut, forced to leave the office after a deadly serious Adrian strong armed him out and barred the door.

Alby walked back and forth in front of the office feeling useless, impotent...angry. Not with Adrian, though – he was furious with himself.

If he'd been quicker, he have gotten to Newt before he'd been attacked.

If he'd been smarter, he'd have made damn sure that someone was with Newt at all times today, so he couldn't have slipped away.

If he'd been a better leader, none of this would have happened.

He walked paced the small area like a caged beast, wearing a path in the floor, an unyielding wall of wood blocking his way and barring him from seeing his closest friend.

* * *

Using a sharp knife Adrian cut away what was left of Newt's tattered, bloody clothes, leaving him bare except for a holy pair of graying underwear. Even as part of him lamented how small and helpless the boy looked, exposed and broken on the ratty blankets, his mind worked methodically on the task at hand. Clinically cataloguing injuries as he went, he worked to identify priorities and assemble a plan of action. With Clint washing away blood and dirt to afford them a better view of the injuries and Jeff grabbing every scrap of suture and bandage he could find, Adrian circumspectly felt along the back of Newt's skull and neck to search for fractures or telling breakage. His relief grew by the second as he found no areas of severe damage; the kid was going to have one hell of a goose egg and the mother of all headaches, maybe a moderate concussion, but his skull and neck appeared to be undamaged. The gash on his forehead, for all that it was ugly, was a relatively minor and easy to deal with. The integrity of his skull was intact, that was the most important thing.

The relief was short lived as Newt took two more faltering gasps of air and simply stopped breathing. His heart thudded once more, dully, before falling silent.

Adrian reacted without thinking, vaulting onto the table and straddling the terrifyingly still boy. His hands were in place and steadily depressing Newt's chest before he'd had a chance to miss more than three heart beats. The man's voice was frigid, his tone harder than steel as his whole being focused on saving the boy's life.

"Not happening kid. Think again."

He pinched Newt's nose closed and leaned down, tasting the coppery tang of blood as he locked his lips over Newt's and forced his own life giving breath down the boy's throat.

"Don't you give up on me now, kid. I'll be _damned_ if I let you die on me now."

 **Pumping.**

 **Breathing.**

 **Pumping.**

 **Breathing.**

Adrian's world narrowed, his mind so focused on bringing Newt back that the glade, the medhut, even the two medjacks hovering powerlessly beside the table faded into nothingness.

 **Pumping.**

 **Breathing.**

 **Pumping.**

 **Breathing.**

Newt and Adrian, the only two people left in the world.

"Don't you give up, kid! Don't you fuckin' **dare** give up on me now! _Breathe_ dammit!"

 **Pumping.**

 **Breathing.**

His arms were burning, his chest constricting tightly as he fought an uphill battle. His eyes started to burn, and not just from the perspiration that dripped into them as he incessantly worked.

 **Pumping.**

 **Breathing.**

 _Losing him._

"Come **on** kid...come on _Newt_. Please. _Come back_ , Newt. Please."

He heard himself begging, but he couldn't stop the words.

"Please kid, it's **not** over yet, you're not _done_. **Please** , _come back to me_."

He felt his last shred of hope miserably start to slip through his fingers when, miraculously, Newt's chest started to rise and fall on its own. The man felt the raspy vibration of labored breath in battered lungs, the revived heart weakly throbbing against the shaking fingers he pressed into the boy's carotid artery. He dropped his head to the bruised flesh under his hands, delicately resting his forehead on the fragile pale skin of Newt's collar bone. He closed his eyes and his lips moved silently, offering thanks to a God he wasn't even sure he truly believed in.

Newt was alive.

For now.

Adrian and the two medjacks worked through supper, passed the setting of the sun and into the night, stabilizing and piecing back together the shattered body of the runner. The leg was the most delicate and dicey to repair; set and splinted, lines of stitches pulled the skin and muscles back together where the broken bones had punched through. Adrian had done the very best he could; he'd pulled out every trick and technique buried in the considerable memory bank of his brain, and still he wasn't sure if the boy would ever walk again. They'd stitched all but the most superficial cuts, treated the bruises, wrapped the broken ribs, addressed the dislocated shoulder and elbow on the right side of his body.

Newt had so many bandages, splints and poultices layered on him that he looked more like a crude rag doll than a person, something thrown together with hand-me-down bits and pieces by a tired parent and discarded by a cranky child.

Adrian wished for better facilities; the medical equipment that he knew could scan for internal injuries and view fractures impossible to see with the naked eye. He wished for actual drugs – to put the boy completely under while his body healed, and to treat the pain of what would surely be a long, long recovery period. He wished for access to actual medical professionals, qualified and trained individuals who would be able to do what he was struggling to accomplish without even breaking a sweat.

He wished for a lot of things.

The moon was high and bright when he finally sent Clint and Jeff off to their own respective beds; there was nothing else the tired and strung out boys could do tonight. Alone with only the broken shell of the boy for company, he saw in the warm light of many candles and soothed the leading edge of his raw nerves by sitting and watching Newt take shallow, steady breaths.

Keeping vigil, knowing he didn't have it in him to step out of the room for even a minute, as the fear and anxiety started to leach away, his canny, clever brain began to work.

 _What the hell had happened out there today?_

He'd seen every inch of skin, treated every scratch, scrape, cut, bruise.

If Newt had been attacked by something...where were the defensive wounds?

If he'd been savaged by a monster...where were the stabs, the claw marks, the bites?

 _Newt...what did you do?!_

It was a long, troubling night.

* * *

Author's note~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	47. Understanding

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _If Newt had been attacked by something...where were the defensive wounds?_

 _If he'd been savaged by a monster...where were the stabs, the claw marks, the bites?_

 ** _Newt...what did you do?!_**

 _It was a long, troubling night._

* * *

Dawn found him sitting in precisely the same position, his face as hard and blank as a stone wall. After much difficult, ugly thinking, after wrestling for hours to try and accept the logical answer, he still wasn't ready to believe the conclusions he'd come to. He prayed he was mistaken. He'd happily accept being wrong, laugh off his error with good grace if there was any other explanation. Perhaps he didn't know all the variables, or was unaware of some circumstance or factor that would vastly change his current interpretation.

But he didn't think so.

Struggling not to get ahead of himself before he could verify his theory, trying to stop the instinctive grief and anger of it all, it took him several minutes to realize that someone was rapping hard at the office door.

Rising stiffly after so many hours of sitting in a tense position on a low stool, he unbarred the door and cracked it open, finding himself face-to-face with a haggard, hollow eyed Alby.

The boy clearly hadn't slept at all, and looked every bit as rundown and wrung out as Adrian felt.

"How is he?" The leader demanded in a whisper, his eyes cutting back and forth from the bed to Adrian's face. "Is he awake yet? Is he gonna be _okay?_ "

The man grunted, rubbing at his tired, aching eyes.

"He's stable, or, as stable as we could make him. As long as we can keep him clear of infection, and **IF** there are no serious internal injuries...he should pull through."

"When do you think he'll be back on his feet?"

Adrian almost laughed at the naive question.

"His leg was _**shattered**_ , Alby, the muscles torn. I set it and put it back together as best I could, but...at this point, I can already tell you it'll _never_ be the same again. _If_ he's able to walk after this, he'll probably have a heavy limp for the rest of his life. He has a _long_ , **painful** recovery ahead of him."

" **If** he's **able** to walk? _**If?!**_ "

"Yeah, _if_. I'm a _researcher_ , for God's sake. I may have _read_ or _studied_ information on these techniques, but I'm **not** a goddamn surgeon. I can't just _pull a medical degree_ out of my ass in a crisis and automatically **know** what to do! I've done everything, _everything_ I can think of to try and help him. He's _alive_. As long as he **stays** that way, he'll heal. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes."

Cowed a little by the irritated outburst, Alby mentally conceded Adrian's point. The gladers had very quickly taken to looking to the man for answers just because he was older, expecting him to immediately know the right course of action for a wide variety of issues. He may be vastly more worldly than the rest of the boys; that didn't mean he was an expert in everything. Alby was mildly embarrassed to realize that he too had just assumed that Adrian would step in and fix this. _Bearing the weight of that constant expectation must be a pretty heavy load to bear_ , Alby mused to himself. _But then, who else do we have to ask?_

"Did you figure out what the shuck happened out there yesterday?" Alby asked, changing the subject.

"I have a pretty good _guess_." Adrian replied darkly, turning his head and staring hard at the bed where his young friend lie. "But until he wakes up and is able to talk to us, I can't be sure. We'll have to be patient, see what he can tell us then."

Alby nodded absently, his troubled face reflecting his own doubts and fears. He gestured towards the man absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"You get any sleep last night?"

Adrian did laugh this time, rolling his eyes at the question. Alby actually winced at the stupidity of the words, looking very much like he wished he could stuff them back down his own throat. Adrian waved him off, unconcerned.

"Probably about as much as you did. I'll crash for a couple of hours when Jeff and Clint get in for the day."

It was well over an hour before the two boys made their way back to the medhut to report for duty, and fully mid morning before Adrian and the medjacks managed to chase Alby out of the office, all three of them ganging up and urging the leader to go back to his regular duties. The obstinate boy kept insisting that he should stick around, just in case they needed him, or that he should be present in the off chance that Newt woke up and was coherent enough to speak to them. It finally took Adrian's threats that Alby hanging around in the room was not only a distraction but also possible source of contamination, which with Newt's numerous open wounds could lead to infection setting in. Alby eventually left, grumbling all the way, assuring them that he would be back later that day to check in.

The leader gone at last, Adrian set Clint and Jeff to changing their patient's plethora of bandages and dressings before shuffling out of the office and in to the common area, firmly instructing them to come and get him immediately should there be any changes in Newt's current condition. Wanting to be easily available and unwilling to put any measurable distance between himself and the injured boy, he stretched out on one of the bunks in the far corner of the building.

Knowing he'd never be able to sleep without some kind of distraction, he pulled his faithful little music player out of his pocket and plugged himself in. It had been really fortunate that he'd planned on wearing it while working on his flora book the day before – had it really only been the day before? - otherwise it would still be in its usual place, carelessly tucked under his pillow.

The last sixteen hours had felt like a full and grueling week, bursting with stress and fear and worry. He closed his eyes, letting the music soothe away the tension headache that throbbed in the back of his skull. The song murmured in his ears, nipping at his conscience, tugging at his heart.

.

 _Step one, you say we need to talk_

 _He walks, you say sit down, it's just a talk_

 _He smiles politely back at you_

 _You stare politely right on through_

.

 _Some sort of window to your right_

 _As he goes left, and you stay right_

 _Between the lines of fear and blame_

 _You begin to wonder why you came_

.

 _Where did I go wrong?_

 _I lost a friend_

 _Somewhere along in the bitterness and,_

 _I would have stayed up with you all night_

.

 _Had I known how to save a life_

* * *

Adrian found himself being roughly shaken awake a couple of hours later. Clint hovered over him, calling his name urgently.

"Adrian... **Adrian!** _Wake up!_ "

The man sat up so fast he almost knocked heads with the new medjack, pushing to his feet and following the unwavering boy into the office before his eyes were fully open.

"Talk to me. What's happening?"

"Newt's awake, but he's not _really_ awake, yeah? He's moving around a lot, thrashing and muttering. His eyes keep opening, but he doesn't seem to see us, or to understand what we're telling him." Clint stated succinctly, while Jeff stayed diligently by the bed – and their distressed patient. Jeff was trying and failing to restrain the thrashing boy, barely managing to keep Newt from rolling off the bed and on to the floor. Adrian got close enough to get a better look, checking the skin of the delirious boy's face with the back of his hand.

He wasn't pleased with what he found.

Newt's normally pale cheeks were flushed red with the head of fever, his skin dewed with a fine layer of sweat. His eyes were open, but the deep brown color, usually sparking with intelligence and purpose, was muddied and glazed. He lashed out spasmodically, fighting against something only he could see, his limbs slapping loudly against the table as Jeff tried to keep him still. Adrian threw an arm across the boy's chest to steady him, barking out orders.

"Clint, stabilize that leg! **Now!** Stop it from flailing around, or he'll tear all the damn stitches out! Jeff, roll a blanket up, grab me a rope!"

With help from the two boys, Adrian lay the thick roll of fabric across Newt's hips, laying the rope over top to create a cushioned restraint that would keep the boy from tumbling off the platform. He cinched it as tight as he dared, effectively securing their patient to the table and giving them a little room to breathe and consider their next move.

Erring on the side of caution, they positioned the reconstructed leg on a thick wedge of padding and tied it down in the same way, fastening it at both the ankle and above the knee, just to be safe. They also carefully tied his wrists and bound him to the bed at the shoulders, restricting the majority of his movement from the neck down. They couldn't take any chances of Newt twisting and popping his shoulder back out, or jerking around and exacerbating any of his other already serious injuries, including his cracked and wrapped ribs. All three of them wiped sweat from their faces when they were through; it was a stressful, physical task that left them a little quivery and out of breath. They stood side by side in solidarity, watching the tortured young man strain against the bindings, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the table beneath him, his eyes wide and wild.

The man stared miserably at what was left of his young, broken friend, tortured by pitiful sight.

Adrian could feel a prickle on the back of his neck; the medjack's, stalwart and ready, looking to him for instructions, depending on him to tell them what to do. He couldn't give in to despair now.

"Get the fire going; we need something to break his fever, ease his pain and put him under.

With Jeff keeping a watchful eye on Newt, Adrian dug out a small bundle of a special kind of plants he'd painstakingly gathered and dried. He held them out to show the medjacks.

"This is datura – also called thorn apple or jimson weed." He explained as he chose and held up one of the thick, fibrous tubers. "While the leaves and seeds can be used as well, the roots tend to be the safest choice for medicines. Utilized properly, datura can be made into an incredibly powerful narcotic – both a painkiller and a sedative. Used carelessly, it can cause delirium, hallucinations – and death. Prolonged use can cause toxins to build up in the system, resulting in serious, often fatal complications."

He broke the smallest root in half, dropping it into a small metal bowl and using the handle of his knife to break it into tiny pieces. Adding a couple of cups of water, he set the container directly over the flame of the little stove. He also put a small pot of water on the fire; as soon as it boiled he transferred the steaming liquid to a jar and dropped in a handful of feverfew leaves, efficiently building a tea to bring down the injured runner's temperature. He talked as he worked, detailing the usage of the unusual herb.

"Boiling a small portion of the roots in water for ten or fifteen minutes releases the useful properties – and creates a solution that is only to be used in **extreme** circumstances, to treat severe, extensive damage. The strength of each root is variable, so making and using this medicine is _never_ without a certain amount of risk."

"Why use it at all, then?" Jeff asked, wary of getting any closer to the apparently dangerous concoction. "Why not use one of the _other_ medicines you've taught us how to make?"

"Because despite the risk, datura – which, when prepared like this, actually temporarily impair the pain receptors in the body and put the user in a state _just this side_ of a coma – is the _**only**_ resource I can currently access that can be **guaranteed** to give him the time he needs to heal. If we can keep him quiet, calm and under for another day or two...he'll heal cleaner, better, and faster."

Moving the two very different medicines away from the fire and setting them aside to cool, Adrian set Clint and Jeff to wiping down Newt's sweat soaked body with cool water while he ground a handful of raw oats and a small strip of dried meat into a coarse powder. He poured some excess hot water he'd saved over the mixture and stirred it into a thin gruel. It may not be fine dining but it was sustenance, and the man knew that it was vital to try and get some form of nourishment into the boy – healing requires energy, and fuel. And Newt didn't exactly have any excess padding to draw from. The three bowls were lined up, cool enough to ingest when Jeff asked the obvious question.

"How are we going to get him to drink all that?" He asked nervously, looking from the bowls to the horizontal figure on the bed. "We can't just ask nicely and expect him to cooperate."

"We'll try to feed the medicine to him in little sips; if that's unsuccessful...I'll give it to him mouth to mouth if I have to. Either way, I'll get it in him."

"Better **you** than me." Jeff muttered with feeling, but he picked up the jar of feverfew tea and stood by the edge of the bed with Clint, who held the gruel and watched everything intensely. Both of the medics stood by, ready to assist in any way they could. Adrian poured about two thirds of a cup worth of the datura solution into a jar and slid his hand under Newt's neck, gently tilting his head forward a little. The boy's eyes stared at him without comprehension as he tried to writhe under his restraints.

"Hey kid, you need to drink this for me now, okay?" Adrian said softly, lifting the rim of the jar to Newt's dry, cracked lips. He dribbled a little into the boy's mouth, and though Newt sputtered a little, he appeared to be swallowing the potent brew. Relieved, Adrian slowly and patiently fed him the whole dose of the narcotic, followed by the feverfew potion and finally the protein rich slurry. He watched the boy's pupils dilate as the drug began to take effect, and watched closely for any adverse effects.

Newt's breathing got deeper, and his struggles slowed before stopping entirely. Those glassy dark eyes began to dull and close; he was grateful to see the pain beginning to fade from them before heavy, exhaustion bruised eyelids slid down and completely hid them from sight. Newt's lips sluggishly formed a garbled word, the same syllables over and over, until Adrian leaned his ear close enough to hear the hoarse whisper.

 _Addy._

It ripped a fresh wound in his heart to hear his name, filling him with a churning mess of anger, self-loathing and regret. He reached down and took Newt's cold, clammy hand in his own, squeezing it gently. He felt responsible for the boy's pain in a way that he couldn't quite put in to words.

"I'm right here, kid." He promised. "I'm not going anywhere."

He felt the hand in his try to squeeze back, and then the last of the tension drained out of Newt's body as he succumbed to the powerful drug and dropped into a deep, healing sleep.

"What do we do next?" Clint asked, tactfully not commenting on the sensitive moment. Adrian turned to face the waiting boys, pivoting so that he could do so without letting go of Newt's hand.

"There's nothing more we **can** do right now. Someone should definitely be here with him until his fever breaks. And even afterwards, come to think of it. He **should** be monitored 'round the clock until he wakes up again. Just in case. But as for right now, it's the waiting game. Other than that? Business as normal." Adrian muttered, frustrated and feeling useless. "I'll stay with him; you two should get back to building up the pharmacy and studying the book. There's no point in all three of us sitting around with our thumbs up our asses."

Happy to comply and relieved to be given a nice stress-free task, Jeff headed off to get started. Clint had the foresight to drag the small stool over to the table for Adrian, briefly clapping a conciliatory hand on Adrian's shoulder before he followed after his partner, pulling the door mostly closed behind himself and leaving Newt in the man's capable hands. Sitting heavily and feeling the worry and fear drag at him, Adrian silently stared at Newt's slack face. It was close to an hour before the fever broke, and only once the boy was safely out of the danger zone was he able to bring himself to speak.

"You remind me so much of...another kid I know." He said softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Newt's hand in an attempt to soothe. "Bright, smart, clever... _always_ asking questions, always wanting to know. Madison... **Maddy**. My little sister, Maddy."

With the cork out of the bottle Adrian's words began to pour out in a steady stream. While he was mindful of the fact that he could very well be under surveillance from 'the creators' and cautiously avoided anything they might be able to use, he told Newt everything else he could remember. Funny anecdotes, rivalries and irritations, silly stories.

How his older sister looked so much like their mother it sometimes hurt to look at her.

How his brother was bright and bold, with a reckless streak Adrian both hated and envied.

How Maddy, the baby, had an unstoppable sweet tooth, and was always trying to find new places to hide her stash of candy.

How his parents would argue passionately about some incomprehensible work topic, locking horns like mortal enemies as they tried to prove their points, and yet despite the debates they'd still dance with each other almost every night when they thought the kids were all in bed.

And how badly he missed them.

He talked and talked, sharing so many of the little things he'd taken for granted over the years. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt compelled to relate it all to Newt; being unconscious, it was really quite doubtful he'd absorb or remember any of what Adrian was saying to him now. Maybe the boy would recall just enough to realize there **was** a reason to keep going, or perhaps the sound of his voice would act a vague comfort and sense of company as he mentally wandered in the dark. Whichever it turned out to be, he found it made him feel lighter, more grounded, to put his memories into words.

Besides, what better audience could he have?

He talked for hours, mindless of the time passing, of morning moving into afternoon and eventually into evening.

"They're my _everything_ ; the reason behind my to insatiable hunger to learn, the source of my driving urge to help. Nothing means more to me than they do. And especially _Maddy_ – she was so young when our parents died, so tiny. So delicate. We've looked after her almost all her life. I'd do _anything_ for her..."

Adrian heard the whisper of the door swinging open behind him but didn't bother turning to look. He had a pretty good idea as to who would be coming to visit, but had been so involved he hadn't sensed the company until the creak of the wooden barrier being pushed aside alerted him.

"Alby. How long you been standing there?" He croaked, mildly self-conscious, his throat dry and scratchy after speaking for so long.

"A while." Alby answered easily, setting a tin plate of dinner and a large bottle of water on the table in front of the man, his face carefully composed and neutral.

Truth be told, he'd arrived at the medhut not long after lunch, intent on forcing his way in to see Newt and, this time, staying until he was damn well ready to leave. Instead as he approached the door, he'd heard the tales and ramblings coming from inside the office. Not wanting to interrupt but unwilling to leave, he'd waited patiently behind the cracked door, trying to ignore the dialogue until the one sided conversation came to a discernible end. Instead he'd found himself captivated by the stories, leaning up against the wall and listening eagerly as the man talked about his family. The love for them was naked in his voice, clear as day in every adventure related.

He'd heard the man's raw fear for their safety should they attempt to get to him, felt the anger as his own when Adrian spoke about how the men who'd captured him would try to use him to get to the rest of his family. Understanding had suddenly washed into him as he listened to the man explain the facts to the unresponsive boy; the only way he could protect those he loved was to make sure he didn't fall into 'the creator's' hands.

Any anger or resentment Alby still harbored over their previous argument melted away. _What would_ _ **I**_ _do_ , he asked himself, _to spare the pain of those who loved me, if I had a family of my own?_

He'd left just long enough to retrieve a meal for the man from the dining hall, walking into the office immediately on his return before he could get distracted and caught up in the monologue again.

"I'd appreciate some time to just sit with him, if that's okay with you." Alby requested, deferring to the man. "I'll keep him company for a while. You've been cooped up for almost two days; if there's anything you want to step out and do...I can always holler for Jeff or Clint, if he needs something before you get back."

Adrian stood and stretched, his back complaining from sitting in a hunched over position for so long.

"As a matter of fact, I think I'll take you up on that. Thanks."

"He's my friend too." Alby reminded, plopping down on the recently vacated seat. He lifted his eyes to meet Adrian's, his gaze knowing and sympathetic.

"He's the closest thing to family I've got."

* * *

Over the next two days Adrian and Alby worked out a rough schedule. Adrian would stay with Newt during the morning and afternoon while Alby would keep watch for a chunk of the evening, giving the man a little time to tend to stretch his legs and tend to personal matters. Alby even brought the man a spare sleeping bag, which made curling up on the floor of the office during the nights (a necessity in case Newt should wake up in need of immediate attention) a little more bearable. The bruises started to fade from the boy's pale skin, the scrapes and superficial wounds scabbed and were well on their way to being healed, and still he remained locked in an almost catatonic state. Adrian's worry continued to grow – he wouldn't eat, he started losing weight, his face was covered in an unkempt crop of stubble.

In the late afternoon a full four days after being dragged from the maze, Newt finally woke up.

* * *

Author's note ~

The song featured in this chapter is _How to Save A Life_ by _The Fray_

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	48. Coward

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Adrian's worry continued to grow – he wouldn't eat, he started losing weight, his face was covered in an unkempt crop of stubble._

 _In the late afternoon a full four days after being dragged from the maze, Newt finally woke up._

* * *

Newt came to slowly, his thoughts fuzzy and disjointed. He felt as though he'd been asleep for ages, and groggily wondered if he'd wake up only find he was now an old, old man. The thought made him want to giggle as he wound his way through the fog and confusion. He was vaguely aware of the rumbling of a deep voice and felt like it should be familiar, like he should know who it was. The same voice had been speaking to him for all the years he'd been asleep and, while he couldn't make sense of the words, the warm steady tone kept him company while he lingered in the dark. Less comforting were the vivid, convoluted dreams that had struck sporadically and with perfect clarity, only to fade away just as quickly as they'd come, fading out of his memory and leaving him with a vague sense of foreboding.

He felt no pain, no loneliness, no fear. The voice cradled him, lulled him into a feeling of security and contentment. _Maybe I should stay here_ , he thought dreamily, _stay here where it's warm and safe and gentle. The voice will take care of me._

Consciousness got closer and he weakly tried to push it away, wanting nothing more than to burrow back down into the protective arms of the darkness. As he got closer to waking pain and sensation began trickling back into his limbs, until he felt as though he'd been alternately beaten with a large stick and wrapped in a suffocating lead blanket. The voice began to become clearer, and Newt could start making out the actual words.

"...swear to God, your buddy Minho's got one serious case of narcissism. You'd think he'd be a bit more humble, living rough and tumble with so many other strong, capable guys, but _noooooo_. I mean, the other night..."

That's right, he had a friend named Minho, didn't he? And there was Alby, and Jeff. Old friends, who'd been with him for as long as he could remember. And someone else, someone new but no less dear. Why couldn't he remember the name?

"...I think he'd just jealous, to be honest. He really _hates_ it when someone comes to me instead of him; he always feels the need to be the center of attention. I wish you could have seen his face the other day – the new greenie, Billy, asked Minho some question or other and before he could even answer, one of the builders cut in and said 'You should go ask Adrian, he'll know.'! Minho's face was absolutely apoplectic! I thought his head might _literally_ explode from the scandal of it all!"

Adrian. That was the name he was searching for.

No, not Adrian.

 _Addy._

The rediscovery of the name sparked a mental mudslide, memories and images tumbling back in a frenzy of color and texture. Some areas remained blank or murky, but the majority of things came back to him. All the improvements they'd made to the glade since their awful beginning here. The runners he'd worked side-by-side with for over a year. Frypan. Ben. Clint. All the other gladers.

And of course, Addy.

Gone were any thoughts of retreating back to the depths; he was right at the surface now, fighting to fully wake up. He could feel the pressure of a warm hand, lightly cupped around his own still fingers. He tried to force his eyes open but someone may as well have glued them shut. Adrian prattled on, talking about everything and nothing as Newt fought a hideous internal battle.

"... _anyway,_ I'm sure you'll have a good laugh about it all when you wake up. Although, come to think of it, if you're out for much longer they might just start calling **you** greenie again. Come on, kid, nap time's over. Time to get your ass back up and moving."

Newt tried, mentally squirming and twisting as he struggled to break the surface.

"I mean it kid, you've been out long enough. Rise and shine."

He couldn't open his eyes, but he thought he'd managed to wiggle his toes a little. Encouraged, he focused everything he had on one more heavy duty push.

"Kid...Newt. _Please_. I need you to wake up."

Adrian hung his head, the plea bitter on his tongue, his eyes gritty from lack of sleep. He felt about a hundred years old; creaky and brittle, hunched from sitting on the same low stool he'd occupied for the last four days. Physically he was almost at his limit – he barely slept, he couldn't bring himself to eat. Not with the stress and guilt of the whole situation festering away inside him. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an ineffective attempt to ease the throbbing headache that had plagued him for days. He didn't know how much longer he could stand this.

The fingers in his twitched, ever so slightly, before slowly curling inward and giving his hand a weak squeeze.

He looked up sharply, almost willing to believe he'd imagined it.

"Kid, can you **hear** **me?** Squeeze my hand again if you can hear me."

Another weak squeeze. Adrian's heart lifted, and he let out his first genuine laugh since Alby had stumbled back through that closing gate.

"Hey kid, **hey!** Welcome back to the world of the living. Do you know who I am?"

Newt's lips moved, the word a hoarse whisper forced through a stiff jaw. It felt like his mouth was full of sand.

" _Aaaaaa...dy_."

"Yeah, that's right, it's Addy. Come on back now, all the way. You can do it."

Newt's heavy lids trembled from the effort but he was able to lift them enough to get a blurry image of a lean face, shadowed in scruffy stubble, leaning down towards him. Adrian smiled wide enough to almost crack his face, unshed tears of relief shining as he celebrated the fact that Newt was awake.

"You're probably pretty disoriented, pretty confused. That's okay, it'll all pass. God, am I glad to see you!"

"Aaaa...dy...wha...happnnnnd...I..."

"Don't worry about it now." Adrian hushed him gently, releasing the boy's hand and delicately lifting first one eyelid then the other to assess his responses. Briskly moving on and checking Newt's heart rate and temperature, he continued the one sided dialogue cheerfully. "Your only job at the moment is to heal. We'll have all the time we need to catch up on everything else after you get some strength back. Are you feeling much pain?"

Newt managed a garbled grumble in response and Adrian immediately brought over a small jar of painkilling medicine, dutifully prepared every morning, just in case. It wouldn't cloud the mind or force sleep as the others had, it was just to ease the pain and relaxed the boy's abused muscles. He gently lifted Newt's head and held the jar to his chapped lips, controlling the flow carefully. Newt choked a little at the first swallow but eventually, with Adrian's help, he drank the whole dose. As Adrian turned to set the jar aside, the boy mumbled something he didn't quite catch. He leaned back in close to try and hear.

"What did you say, kid?"

"tsssts...like...klnnnnk..."

Adrian laughed breezily, the sudden break in tension leaving him almost in a state of euphoria. He placed a hand on the boy's head and watched, listening to Newt's breath slow as he fell into a lighter, more natural sleep. Knowing full well how exhausting it was to be in pain, understanding how much effort it took to make your way back for even a few minutes, Adrian knew it would take a while yet before the boy could stay awake for any length of time. But time they had, in abundance, so he closed his own eyes and said a few silent words of gratitude.

The worst of the danger had passed.

* * *

Newt was in and out a lot in the next couple of days. It felt as though every time he surfaced, a different face was hovering nearby. Jeff, Alby, Clint.

And Adrian. Always Adrian.

Whether front and center or fading into the background, every time he opened his eyes Adrian was there, watching over him. When the pain would start to overwhelm him he was fed any number of noxious tasting brews that would ease the agony and leave him drowsy, allowing him to slip back into sleep, waking only to repeat the same scene over and over again. On the second day after he awoke the medjacks were confident enough in his current stage of recovery to remove the numerous bindings that lashed his body to the table.

His strength appeared to be returning and his periods of wakefulness became more frequent; he found he was able to stay conscious and clear headed a little longer each time. The blanks spots also started to fill in, the misplaced memories of his recent actions returning fully intact. The third afternoon after his reawakening Jeff, Clint and Alby joined the ever present Adrian in the office. Newt lay trapped on the table, trying not to sweat as he looked from face to face; having all four of them in here together meant exactly one thing, and he was wasn't looking forward to it in the least.

They were here for answers.

"We're all here, and since you're awake," Alby started, "I figure it's as good a time as any for you to fill us in, and tell us just what the shuck happened out there."

Newt rolled his eyes; Alby was, as ever, a master of diplomacy, subtlety and tact.

"How you got out there aside, what did you see? What did all... **THIS** to you? I've never heard of a griever – "

"It wasn't a griever." Newt deadpanned, cutting the leader off.

"What was it then? What got you? Can you describe it? If there's something else out there..."

"Nothing got me." Newt said dispassionately , carefully not looking at anyone but Alby. "I fell."

"You **fell.** " Alby asked, incredulous. Clint and Jeff exchanged confused glances; relieved that there didn't appear to be any fresh threat to contend with, but at a loss as to how an experienced runner could have sustained such severe injuries from something so innocuous.

Adrian remained still, leaning against the wall of the office, his face composed and blank.

"So, what, you tripped over your own two feet and that's how you ended up with – what was it, Adrian?"

"Shattered leg, dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, concussion, cuts, scrapes, bruises." Adrian rattled off impassively, his gaze focused intently on Newt's face.

"I climbed the ivy to get a better vantage point. I must have lost my grip." Newt said carefully, less than willing to share the actual circumstances with the others, but not wanting to outright lie. Alby's suspicious face was making him nervous, twitchy – and defensive.

"Look, I lost my grip and took a tumble. Shame on me for being clumsy." He made the mistake of glancing towards the man, and those searching green eyes bored into his. "It was just a bloody accident."

Adrian turned and braced his hands on the solid surface of the work counter, using it to keep himself upright on suddenly weak knees. His stomach churned greasily. His heart ached.

And he knew.

The second he'd locked eyes with the boy he'd known.

A kaleidoscope of of feelings blew through him, leaving behind a volatile mix just waiting for a spark. He held himself in check by the the tips of his fingers.

"Everybody out. I need the room."

"Hey man, you okay? What's up?" Jeff asked nervously, the jagged, raspy cadence in the man's voice startling him – and making him more than a little uncomfortable. Clint and Alby stared at the man, instantly on edge, disturbed by the sudden change in atmosphere.

"I said, **everybody out.** " Adrian demanded, refusing to turn and look at any of them.

The three able bodied boys looked around the room, glancing uneasily at each other, clearly torn.

The tension in was thick enough to walk on; Newt, pale and bruised but defiant, all the same. Adrian could have been carved from granite, a harsh sculpture of barely contained emotion. No one spoke as the two medjacks and the leader slowly slipped from the room – all three afraid of what may happen in their absence, each secretly relieved to escape the highly charged scene. It felt as though they had stumbled into a bomb shelter just in time, shaking and sick as they waited for the first shell to drop.

Adrian closed and barred the door after their exit, ensuring complete privacy for his chat with Newt. He kept his back to the table, not trusting himself to look at boy, bracing his balled hands on the thick wood of the door for support. When he found his voice the words came out too cold and flat to be an actual question.

"What did you do."

"What does it matter?" Newt shot back, a sneer in his voice. "It's not like **you're** planning on sticking around anyway. Why should what I do – or not do – matter to _you?_ "

"You jumped."

Again, more a statement than a question, the words devoid of all emotion and inflection. From his vantage point on the table Newt couldn't see the man's face, couldn't read the pain, the sorrow, the betrayal so clearly painted on his features. He couldn't see the tight, tense muscles in Adrian's shoulders, or the way his fisted hands trembled against the wooden door.

" _My choice, my right_." Newt said mockingly, too far gone into his own anger and bravado to care how his words sounded. He closed his eyes, hearing the man's voice in his memory speaking those very same words, the sentiment echoing in his ears. "Like you have **any** bloody call to gripe at me over **my** decisions."

He heard Adrian's breath hitch in once, then again, taking it as an expression of surprise and shock rather than despair.

"This...this isn't your only option. This isn't the way out for you." Adrian whispered, the words screaming in the emotionally charged air.

"Really? Oh, do tell." Newt's reply dripped with sarcasm as he shook his head, tired, in pain. Defeated.

"What was it you said Addy? _'There is no happy ending. It's already over. The only way out is death.'_ Or was it _'Death comes for everyone, eventually.'_ Why should I bother, why should I fight and bleed and **hurt** , when we're never gonna shuckin' get out of here? Why _shouldn't_ I just check out? You obviously don't care about me...about us. If you did, you'd at least **try** to stick around, try to shucking _help_ us. But then, you already have **your** answer, you've made **your** choice, about what's _**best**_ for _**you.**_ Knowing that, knowing you're putting _your own_ _selfishness_ above _our_ welfare, what _possible_ reason can you give to convince me I'm better off staying? What's the bloody **point?!** "

Adrian moved silently, getting to the bed in three long steps. His vision literally tinted red, he grabbed Newt by the front of his tightly wrapped bandages and yanked his torso up, leaning down until they were nose to nose. Newt gasped at the sudden sharp shock of pain and his eyes flew open. Shocked, he instinctively focused on the man's face, dazedly taking in Adrian's furious expression.

The man's misty green eyes were swimming, and a lone tear had escaped to trace a clear trail down his cheek. It wasn't just anger that Newt saw, it wasn't rage that warped the man's face – it was anguish; a pain so deep and brutal it twisted his features into someone unrecognizable, stunning the boy.

"You'd use my words? _You_ , who have a chance, a _real fucking chance_ , to get out of here and actually **get** a shot at the rest of your life? You'd toss it all away just so you can throw it in my face? You have the goddamn **nerve** to call me selfish?" He dropped Newt back to the table with a painful _oof!_

"You have no idea what's at stake here, boy." Although the tone was venomous his words shuddered with emotion, and he stepped away from the table before he could lose it and grab the injured boy again.

"I lost everything the minute I got here. **Everything**. My family, my friends...my chance to breathe free air, or see my next birthday. I wonder, can you _understand_ that concept? Do you, in that self absorbed brain of yours, have **any** idea what I would do to see the people I love, one more time? I can't think of anything I wouldn't give, for just five minutes to say goodbye."

Newt was thunderstruck by the raw pain in the man's voice. He tried to push himself up to his elbows, hissing in pain.

"Adrian, I..."

"I'll never see them again. And they'll never know what happened to me." Adrian said distantly, another tear sliding down his face. "Every day that I'm stuck in here, they're out there, searching, desperately looking. _Hoping_. Never knowing what's become of me. And then, when I'm **dead**..."

Newt flinched at the bluntness of the statement, and the sudden acidity in the man's voice.

"They'll _keep_ looking, _keep_ hoping. For weeks, months, _years_ , they'll just. **Keep. Looking.** I'll have rotted away to dust and bones, and they'll _still_ hope, still believe that one day, **ONE DAY** they'll see me again. I'll be gone."

Adrian jerked a shoulder, trying to make the movement casual but only looking more miserable and bitter than before.

"And they'll still be here. They'll suffer and worry, fear and obsess until maybe, one day, they're _lucky_ enough to stumble onto whatever's left of me. Failing that? They'll look and suffer and worry for the _**rest of their lives**_. I _know_ how that feels." Adrian said brokenly, turning his face away. "When I was young I didn't have a lot of friends around my age. I was only really close with two others, and we were inseparable – more brothers than friends. After the disaster...I never saw them again. Despite **logic** telling me they couldn't have survived, despite **common sense** and a _realistic_ view of the world, despite _everything_ , I've still spent more than half my life searching for them. I don't want to _believe_ they're gone. Everywhere I go, _every_ new group I encounter, I feel a little flutter in my stomach; an aching, painful kind of hope that maybe, _just maybe_ , I'll see them again."

"God, Addy, I'm sorry – "

Adrian whirled around to look at the boy again, his eyes scorched dry by the sheer heat of his gaze, his tortured tone hardening in an instant.

"You're _sorry?_ Sorry for my grief, for the _pain_ of my family, for the _loss_ of my friends? This isn't about **me,** kid. I didn't tell you all that to earn your pity. This is about **you**."

"I – "

"Yeah, **you**. You, who has no concept of how hard, how shucking _brutal_ it is to try and accept the consequences of doing the right thing. You, who hears _half_ a goddamn conversation, one that has nothing to do with you, and decide...what, exactly? It's the end of days, better _abandon_ ship? He doesn't _care_ , why should I? You figure it's better to leave your friends – your family – behind to suffer and mourn, and fight through the challenges of this place _on their own?_ "

Instantly angry, Newt tried to snap back.

"Like you've got **any** bloody right – "

"You're a **coward** , Sally." Adrian snapped, cutting him off yet again. "Wallowing in teenage angst and ready to throwing it all away because things aren't going your way. _Poor little you_."

" _A coward?!_ " Newt choked, outraged.

"Yeah, _**a coward**_." Adrian spat, curling his lip, his anger flying through the air like razor blades. "I'll let you in on a little secret, kid. You can't always get what you want, and life doesn't always go your way. _Sometimes_ it even hurts like _hell_. But everyone has someone or something worth fighting for, worth _staying_ for. **That's** the bloody **point.** "

Adrian could feel himself loosing control, could feel the pain fueled vitriol rising up and threatening to spew out. He turned on his heel and heaved the bar off the door, breathing heavily.

"Some things in life are worth dying for. Your crisis of confidence isn't one of them. "

He stormed through the open door, out of the building and passed the trio of concerned boys hanging around the front entrance. He would have kept right on going if Jeff and Clint hadn't run after him, easily catching up.

"Hey... _hey!_ " Hey man, what's going on?!" Jeff demanded, trying to keep up with the man's ground eating strides.

Adrian just kept going, trying to put some distance between him and the kid before he could do something truly regrettable.

"Adrian – you gotta talk to us, here." Clint asserted, edging in front of his distraught mentor and subtly turning his shoulder to block his forward progress. "We don't know what to do for you if you don't talk to us."

"I can't be here right now." Adrian bit out shakily, barely resisting the urge to shove the well meaning boys aside. "Let me go."

Jeff started to splutter protests but Clint nodded his understanding, stepping in and taking the man's rock tight shoulders in his steady hands.

"You've been on this for days; it's passed time for you take a break." Clint agreed, watching the man with knowing eyes. "Take all the time you need, Jeff and I'll keep things running smooth in the meantime. But **do** come back, hey?" He said, putting a saucy gleam in his eye and adding an easy joke to try and break a little of the tension. "Just don't think you'll be getting out of work so _easy_ the next time."

Adrian let out a strangled parody of a laugh, giving Clint's arm a halfhearted squeeze in thanks before edging past them and making a beeline for the woods, running full out towards the safety – and privacy – of home.

* * *

After a quick check up from Clint, which Newt endured petulantly, Alby asked for his own bit of alone time with the patient. The door had barely closed behind the medjack when Alby jumped right in.

"What the **hell** is going on here, Newt?" He demanded, pulling up the stool and watching Newt with dark, measuring eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it." Newt turned his head away, tired and wrung out from the highs and lows of the emotional roller-coaster he'd already ridden once today. He had absolutely no desire to get back in line and take another spin. "I just want to sleep, alright?"

"No." Alby stated equitably, "I think you've slept _enoug_ h for now. It's time for you to give me some answers. What happened out there, in the maze?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Newt repeated, pouting like a child and still refusing to look at the leader. "Leave me alone."

"You went out there, despite having been put on the bench. You left the glade, _against_ direct orders. I dragged you back in _pieces._ " Alby was working towards angry now, frustrated by his friend's refusal to respond, sickened by the suspicions he'd been trying to deny for days.

"When you stepped through that gate...you never planned on coming back, did you?"

" _So?_ So **what** if I _didn't?_ " The hostile, hissy whisper confirmed the older boy's worst fear.

"I've been out of my mind with worry over you for days – **days!** And you just...why'd you do it? Are you _insane?!_ What the shuck were you **thinking?!** "

Now Newt turned to look at Alby, locking eyes with him, outrage on his face.

" _Me?_ You're judging **me,** now? You bloody hypocrite! I didn't exactly hear you kicking up a fuss when _Adrian_ told you all about his little plan to die, about how it was **his** choice! And you just _condone_ it, _agree_ with it? What kind of leader are you? Why should _ **I**_ have to justify anything to _**you?**_ "

"What are you – "

"I shuckin' **heard** you!" Newt shouted, his face red with anger. "By the farm! All tight and cozy, all chummy-chummy as he's making plans to leave and off himself! **Why?** Because he doesn't _care_ about us, because we're **never** shuckin' getting out of here, and he _knows it's the only way out!"_

"We'll get out." Alby stated, deadly serious all of a sudden. His face slumped into lines of cold pity as he shook his head at his old friend. "The _next_ time you decide to believe something you've heard, you may want to verify **all** the facts before you work yourself into a fit."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"I was fighting with Adrian, trying to get him to agree to _stay here_ when they try to take him back. He refused, saying that whoever's on the other side will start killing us off until they get what they want. He's not willing to let **us** die. That's _one_ reason he's decided he has to go."

"Like _klunk_. The bastard probably – "

"The other is his family."

"His family?" Newt parroted, bewildered. "What's his family got to do with this?"

"The creators, as he calls them, want to get their hands on his family. If they can take him alive, torture him, break him...he's afraid they'll use him as bait to get their hands on his family. He _loves_ them, Newt, more than anything." Alby said, his tone hard and cold. "I heard it, in his voice, when he was talking about them. To save _them_ , he'd sacrifice himself. He's not planning on killing himself for the experience. He's terrified, but... he'll still stand as a shield in front of the people he loves. If _anything's_ worth dying for, it's that."

"His...why would they want his family?"

"Who the shuck knows? One thing I do know, though, is he's got a little sister, our age or younger. And she's his _whole_ _damn_ _world_. He'd do **anything** for her."

Alby got up, turning his back on his old friend in disgust.

"Oh, and as far as he's concerned? He **doesn't** have a choice in the matter. It's **their** lives, and **our** lives, or **his.** Still think he doesn't care?"

Alby exited the room, leaving the speechless boy wrapped in a painful silence.

He thought about the hard, angry words he'd thrown at the man, the accusations, the insults. He recalled the tears of pain in Adrian's eyes. Every drop of blood drained out of his face as he finally understood.

"Oh **God**. What have I _done?_ "

* * *

Author's note ~ See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	49. Enjoy

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _He thought about the hard, angry words he'd thrown at the man, the accusations, the insults. He recalled the tears of pain in Adrian's eyes. Every drop of blood drained out of his face as he finally understood._

 _"_ _Oh_ _ **God**_ _. What have I done?"_

* * *

Alby strode out of the medhut, a man on a mission, his mind moving in a hundred directions all at the same time. Pity and grief for his damaged friend, disappointment over the childish pique he'd worked himself into, outrage and insult from Newt's apparent willingness to forfeit his life, it all crowded together in his head. He wanted to rail at the runner, sink his metaphorical teeth in and rip a wide bloody strip off of Newt for the overwhelming stupidity of his actions; it was best to walk away until he felt he could manage a more level headed discussion.

And on top of it all, he knew he was needed elsewhere.

Now in possession of all the pieces of the puzzle and better understanding the driving force behind the obviously difficult decisions, Alby felt nothing but respect and kinship for the man. Thinking of Newt's angry words during their own brief confrontation, he could only imagine how vicious the argument had gotten between the two before Adrian had walked out. Alby didn't have it in him to ignore the palpable suffering; he couldn't leave a brother to face the pain alone. And he knew the man was in pain – the devastated look on his face when he'd swept by outside the hut had left no doubt about that, empathy squeezing a tight fist around his throat as he headed directly towards the house in the woods.

He found the little cottage door shut and locked, the shutters closed up tight. He banged a fist rapidly on the rough hewn wood and listened carefully.

Silence.

"Adrian, I know you're in there, man. If you don't really feel like dealing with company right now...well, can't say that I blame you for that. I just need to talk to you for a minute. Open the door."

Silence.

"Okay, you're either sulking or not here. Either way, I'm coming in."

He grabbed the handle and jiggled it vigorously, rocking the door back and forth in an effort to shimmy the rustic lock out of place. His actions were rewarded with a snarled response, clear and withering even from behind the thick walls.

"What do you _want_ , Alby?"

Alby ceased his attack, swiftly moving to one side and leaning up against the door jamb to speak more easily through the cracks.

"Just checkin' on you, man. Things were pretty damn tense when we left you two alone, and afterwards you ran off like you had a griever on your ass. I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Just fine and _dandy,_ thanks for asking. _**Bye.**_ "

Alby shook his head at the scathingly sarcastic reply, obviously a dismissal. Refusing to let it go, he put a little condescension in his voice, intentionally provoking the man.

"Yeah, sure, _whatever_ you say. I also figured that I should probably take a sec and remind you of your, ah, _priorities_ – just in case your little spat with Newt has you thinking about doing something stupid yourself."

The door slammed open in front of him, revealing Adrian's pale, angry face. A vein in his forehead visibly throbbed as he spluttered,righteous indignation crippling his normal eloquence.

"In case **I.**..?! _You_ – "

"Ah, good, now that I have your attention..." Alby said evenly, giving the livid man a little shove to get him out of the way and strolling past him into the house. Adrian stood silently, unable to speak through the anger and outrage. Alby met the man's fire with cool composure and eyes that burned with compassion.

"You're pissed right now. I mean, _hell_ , anyone with half a working brain could figure that out, right? But, the way **I** see it, you're not just angry – you're nursing a shuck-load of hurt to go with the mad. I won't make excuses for someone else, and I have absolutely no respect for those that do. I figure if you screw up; own up to it, and learn from it so you don't make the same mistake again. It's painfully clear now that Newt _seriously_ screwed up. "

Adrian didn't respond, his face a stony mask .

"The only thing I'll say on the matter is this; whatever that idiot said to shake you up like this, whatever's rattling around in that slint head of his, he's never been the kind of guy to intentionally, maliciously hurt someone. He doesn't know, doesn't _understand_ ," Alby stated simply, "why you're so dead set to finish things **your** way. He doesn't _get_ it."

"And _you?_ You suddenly **do?** " Adrian demanded, his hands shaking. "You're giving me whiplash here; a week ago, you sounded _just like him_."

"Yeah, well, now I've filled in the blanks. He may not have heard your ramblings, but **I did** , loud and clear."

Adrian turned away, grabbing his head in his hands as though he could squeeze the ugliness out of his brain by brute force. Alby watched him steadily, wishing there was some way he could bark a command or throw out a joke and make everything right again.

"So be pissed, be hurt, work your way through it. All I ask is, when you're done, _try_ not to hold it against him for too long, hey? Give him a chance to make it up to you. Take some time to think it over. That being said...if you're not in the mood for company, you _might_ want to take off and disappear for a while until you sort things out. If you try to hunker down in here, someone's bound to come knocking sooner or later."

Adrian moved to the door without speaking, his turmoil so clear the leader could all but feel the anguish rolling off the man in waves. Alby held out an arm to stop him for one moment longer, speaking lowly and fiercely.

"For what it's worth...I speak for everyone here when I say you've changed our lives. Every glader would stand and fight for **you;** you're one of us, now. Anything we can do, man. We'll be right here beside you...until the end."

Adrian bobbed a jerky little nod of understanding before bolting off into the blissful anonymity of the thick trees, desperate to excape before he completely lost control. Alby closed the door behind himself and headed back to the glade, knowing he'd done all he could. He had no choice now but to give the injured parties some space, and time, and hope they could work out their problems on their own.

Even when he was an emotional wreck, Adrian's brain retained its shrewd intelligence. As he wound through the thick greenery, he could admit to himself that holing up in his house and hoping to remain undisturbed was no less foolish than a child believing they were invisible if they covered their eyes. Mentally berating himself for the stupidity of it, he purposefully headed to the most remote, least trafficked section of the glade.

He went to the deadwoods.

Seeing the greenery covered corner of their prison, remembering the feel of Newt's hand in his as he'd pulled the boy from the tangled plant, he had no intention of trying to conceal himself here. He grabbed the thickest, toughest vines he could get his hands on and started to climb.

About half way between ground and sky, the height was enough to make his head spin dizzily when he risked a glance below him.

 _Is this what the kid saw, just before he jumped from the walls?_

Swallowing to ease his vertigo, he doggedly pushed himself upward, pulling himself higher and higher. Contrary to the many assertions of the gladers, the parasitic plant did indeed reach all the way to the top of the structure in multiple places. He knew there were a number of deterrents in place to convince the gladers otherwise and was so completely focused on his goal, he found himself fleetingly grateful.

 _If anyone else had pushed through, determined to climb to the top, would they have been allowed to survive?_

Sweating, grunting, his arms trembling a little from the effort, Adrian dragged himself up onto the rough stone edge, crawling until he knelt in the very center of the man made cliff. Breathing heavily from the exertion, chest heaving, he stared down at the cold, unforgiving surface.

Utterly, completely, blissfully alone, he unleashed his rage and his misery. He shouted a string of obscenities at the crystal blue of the sky, ranting until he was hoarse, slamming his fists furiously and repeatedly into the stone beneath him.

He wept.

He grieved.

He let it all boil out of him, all of the fear and regret and bitterness, the pain, the guilt. After what felt like years, he collapsed in a heap in the middle of the elevated pathway, shivering from the effort of the brutal, but necessary, purge.

When his breath eventually began to even out, he crossed his aching hands under his head to cushion his throbbing skull. In the newly quiet air he identified the skitter of metal claws against rock, but couldn't find the energy to raise his head and look.

"Piss off." He told the beetle blade dully. "I'm taking a sabbatical. Find someone else to pester, you little monster."

He could hear the shutter of its camera opening and closing, focusing on him, studying him. Knowing what Newt had attempted, he probably shouldn't blame the creators for wanting to keep an eye on him, just in case he got a wild hair and followed suit. He wanted to feel insulted, or flattered, or even amused. All he felt was a kind of all encompassing numbness, an apathy that left him cold right down to his bones.

"I said, piss off. I'll rejoin the gladers when I'm shuckin' well ready to. Until then, just leave me the hell alone."

He could hear the shutter readjusting, as though the creature was actively considering his words. Then, the quick skitter of metal claws making a speedy retreat. Though he had no doubt that he was still being watched by other methods, the departure of the mobile camera satisfied him. Watching the sky dim and darken, without even his music to comfort or distract him, he welcomed the solitude like an old friend.

* * *

It was the longest night of Newt's short life.

He refused the pain meds Jeff and Clint tried to urge on him, shaking his head and telling them he was fine. Even when the aches became so intense it felt like his bones had been set on fire, he still grit his teeth and refused. He wanted a clear head, a focused mind to try and sort out the absolutely mess he'd made.

He'd been hard, he'd been cold, he'd been intentionally cruel.

He'd been the one who was selfish, thoughtless.

And he'd been wrong. Utterly, completely, undeniably wrong. That he could see now, with perfect clarity. All together it was one heavy, hard lump to swallow.

How badly was Adrian suffering now, because of him?

He'd never before felt such guilt, such self loathing as when he replayed Alby's words in his head, thinking of the devastated look on the man's face before he'd walked away. Here was a man who'd done nothing but support him, help him, protect him, and Newt had let him down. No, worse, he'd lashed out in the most painful, the most scarring way possible.

When daylight started to brighten the gloom of the office, Newt knew that if he didn't find some way to make this right with Adrian, he'd never be able to forgive himself. At the approach of footsteps, Newt propped himself up on his elbows and tried to find the words he'd need to repair the vast damage he'd caused.

God, he hoped he could fix this.

But it wasn't Adrian who opened the door – Clint walked in first, carrying an armful of rough white and brown strips. Jeff was close behind, lugging a pail of water and two long, unwieldy objects. Newt's heart thumped painfully when he recognized the crutches Adrian had built during his recovery from the bullet wound in his leg. Clint, clearly in charge ( _when did that happen?_ ) set down his bundle and gave Newt a cool, professional smile.

"Lets take a look at that leg."

"Where's Addy?" Newt asked sharply, not caring how it sounded at the moment. Clint carefully unwrapped the bandages and splints from Newt's broken leg, ignoring the question.

"Surface is healing fine, the swelling's down. We should be able to pull these stitches today."

"Jeff, Clint, _where's Addy?_ " Newt asked again, trying to soften his tone and tamp down on his frustration. Jeff looked away, discomfort on his face, as Clint picked up a sharp knife and quickly cut the thick suture thread zigzagging up the runner's leg. Newt winced a little as the thread was tugged loose from his skin, but he continued to stare at Jeff. The darker skinned boy shuffled his feet a little, ducking down to avoid the look by stuffing long strips of the whitish material into the bucket of water, slopping it over the sides and making a mess. Newt tried a different angle.

"Shouldn't Adrian be here for this? I mean, he _is_ the most knowledgeable – "

"This is what he's trained us for." Clint cut in a little sharply, watching Newt with a hard glint in his eye. "He needed to be elsewhere today, but he trusts us enough to take care of a simple birch bark cast. He knows there's no need to hover and hold our hands."

Newt blinked, momentarily distracted.

"Cast? Like an actual, solid cast?"

"That's the idea. Now settle down and hold still." Clint commanded firmly, easing the padding out from underneath the injured appendage, making fresh sweat pop out on Newt's forehead. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get you up on your own two feet again."

It wasn't easy for Newt to find the patience to get through the morning. It felt like waiting for the cast to dry took weeks, and listening to the medjacks going on and on about the need to take things slowly and no overdo took another year, at least. He thought he had finally reached the point where his sufferance would be rewarded when, sitting on the edge of the table and gripping the hands of the two watchful medics for support, he tried to pull himself up onto his good leg.

It wasn't quite the reward he'd pictured.

His strong leg tried to buckle immediately, and he would have ended up flat on the floor if not for the steadying hands of Clint and Jeff. His head swum dizzily, and he let our a gasping cry of pain as his body made its displeasure thoroughly known. He had no strength, his muscles trembling and rebelling, leaving him with little to no control of even the undamaged areas of his own body.

The office spun in lazy circles, and he was terrified that he'd either puke or pass out, or both, just from the effort of trying to stand.

"Easy now, let's just take this slow." Clint encouraged gently, him and Jeff supporting the majority of Newt's weight with their own strong arms. It took ten long, painful minutes, but together they managed to limp the woozy runner out of the office and over to one of the bunks in the general area, easing him down onto the hard surface so he could catch his breath.

And he was sweating now; sweating, shaking, weak.

He didn't need to hear the hushed conversation between the two healers to know what was being discussed; it was going to be a long, painful road to recovery.

Panting rapidly in ragged gasps after less than twenty feet, Newt despaired as he thought of how, only days before, he could have run for hours without breaking a sweat. Coming to the full realization of exactly how much damage he'd done to his own body, understanding it was his fault alone, he mourned the loss of his independence.

* * *

Adrian spent all day up on the top of the wall, unwilling to face the gladers, unable to even consider trying to talk to Newt. Dusk had fallen before he relinquished his solitude, shimmying down the vines under the cover of the growing dark. Resigned to the inevitability of unwanted company, he wasn't surprised in the least to find the leader loitering in the little meadow bordering his home, clearly waiting to speak to him.

 _You'd think he'd at least let a guy get home,_ _get settled a bit before he comes calling,_ Adrian thought, mildly irritated.

"Hey, welcome back." Alby said tensely, a smallish white box tucked under his arm. Adrian only grunted and headed into the house, knowing full well the boy would follow him whether invited or not. He lit the candles and washed his face, changed his shirt, got a drink of water - ignoring Alby's presence until he was damn well ready to deal with him. Clean and feeling almost human again, he gave in.

"What do you need, Alby?"

"They sent up the supplies today; this was in there for you. I needed to bring it over."

The man took the box, mildly puzzled at the strange tone in the boy's voice. It looked the same as the others had, an ordinary carton of cheap cigarettes. Same size, same brand. He kept to fairly strict rations here, stretching a single pack to last three or four days. During his time in the glade, they'd sent up a new carton every month; it was his only true luxury. Adrian couldn't understand Alby's sudden concern.

"Why the sudden rush to get these to me?"

"Open it."

It did feel lighter than normal. Adrian flipped the flimsy cardboard top up, humoring the boy. Instead of the normal ten packages that fit inside the carton there was only one, along with a couple rolls of white paper for spacing and a small piece of card-stock with a single word written on it.

 _ **Enjoy.**_

He felt a shiver threaten to crawl down his spines as he instantly understood the threat – and the promise.

"What does it mean?" Alby demanded, obviously hoping for a different answer.

Adrian swallowed dryly, setting the box down on the table. He sat heavily, running his hands over his face as he tried to maintain his composure.

" _Adrian._ **What. Does. It. Mean?!** " Alby asked in an angry, clipped tone.

"They've decided to pull the plug." Adrian replied stoically, thinking of the mostly full package he was still working on and doing the math in his head. "In approximately one week, my time here will come to an end."

"A week? **ONE WEEK?!** No, that's not...we're _not ready_. They _can't_ take you yet!" Alby lamented as he pushed to his feet, pacing the tight confines of the building. "What're we going to **do?!** "

"It was actually quite generous of them to give me so much notice. It should be enough time."

"Time? For what?" Alby asked, genuinely hoping the man had just one more trick left up his sleeve. "Do you have a plan? Of _course_ you've got a plan. You **have** to let me _help_. Just tell me what to do!"

"You're going to organize a bonfire." Adrian answered, stunning the leader.

"A bonfire? Why the _shuck_ would we - "

"Not we, **you.** " Adrian corrected. " **You're** going to plan a bonfire. There'll be a celebration, feasting, music. You'll need to meet with the music makers, and Frypan, coordinate with the sloppers...if you have any burning questions, I'll gladly answer them; but the planning and organizing these kind of events is going to fall completely on **you** from now on. It's a lot, especially considering how much already rests on your shoulders. As a matter of fact," He added, thinking out loud now. "You'd do well to find yourself a second in command, one you can trust to make sure things get done."

"Adrian. I'm not going to run off and plan a shucking party when I...when **you**...I mean, when the _others_ find out..."

The man looked at the upset, angry boy with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

"You're a smart kid, well on your way to becoming a smart man. So answer me this – is your anger, your guilt, your denial going to _change_ what happens when they call me back? Will you suffering magically make those bastards _alter_ their agendas, and suddenly decide to give me a free pass? Is there any benefit in getting the others all riled up over this?"

"No." Alby replied slowly, understanding the inherent truth of the words even as the thought burned a hole in his gut. "No, it wouldn't change a thing."

"That's right. So, take advantage of my presence, one last time. Any question, _any at all_ , **ask**. The release of a bonfire, the joy, the defiance...it's **vital** for them. It reminds them that there's **more** out there, more to life than just _existing_ in this cramped little glade. They need to understand that, to **believe.** If you want to help me, then do your best to put together a kick-ass gathering. And personally speaking...I sure could use that one last bit of brightness before the dark rolls in. Consider it a last request."

A chaotic mix of emotions in his eyes, Alby couldn't think of any way to respond. He inclined his head, opening his mouth to say something before changing his mind and closing it again. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and managed a sickly smile before he left.

"I'll...I'll make it happen."

As soon as he was through the door Adrian closed and barred it, taking deep, calming breaths. He wasn't nearly as steady as he'd forced himself to appear for the leader, and needed to find his peace now.

There was so little time, and so much left to do.

He cleared off the table, sitting down with the large squares of lightweight packing paper and a spare pencil he had kicking around. He conscientiously worked for more than an hour, considering, refining, reworking until he was satisfied with the result. Clearing the surface again, he brought out the little recording machine he'd created and set it up facing his chair, sparking extra candles to life to provide better light before seating himself if front of the lens. He raked his hands through his hair once, twice, in an attempt to settle it into some semblance of order.

 _Here we go, now or never. Please,_ _ **God**_ _, let this work._

He reached over and punched the tiny green record button, flashing a cheeky smile at the now live machine.

"Hey guys. Long time no see. I wish I could be there in person, but things...went a little astray. "

He kept the tone light, a facade of cheer for the camera.

"I have to believe you'll find this message, sooner or later. I'm afraid I don't have much time. I wish I could just tell you what I found myself, say it all out loud, but _just in case_ this ends up in the wrong hands..."

He held up one of the sheets of paper, continuing to speak as he showed a cryptic message written in thick bold lines.

 **0?! :x9 7 3x?!3/**

 **5*Uq1 x6 qxqxU*9.**

 **91!k! 91!/ 7k! 733**

 **.97U20U: 0U 7 kx-**

"You know me – I know you'll be able to crack the code. When you have, when you understand...it'll change everything. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodbye."

* * *

Author's note ~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	50. Sucker Punch

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _"_ _You know me – I know you'll be able to crack the code. When you have, when you understand...it'll change everything. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodbye."_

* * *

Three days. It took Newt three long, painful days before he was strong enough to hobble around on his own, using the shortened crutches from Adrian. Three long days of sweat, weakness, and gritting his teeth. Three days worth of blisters on his hands, constant throbbing in his healing ribs, and agonizing burning across his shoulders as he learned how to support his weight on the sticks.

Three days with no sign of Adrian.

Whenever Newt asked either of the two medjacks about the absence all that they would say is that Adrian was working on something or was busy elsewhere. They would rush to assure him that they were fully trained and prepared to help him, that they knew what they were doing, that he was safe in their hands.

That was beside the pont. Their competence wasn't the issue.

If Adrian wouldn't come to him, he'd go to Adrian. That was all there was to it. Determined to have his face-to-face with the man, he continued to push himself every day until he dropped. Midway into the first week of his recovery, he managed to limp his way into the dining area around mid breakfast; it was the first time he'd made a public appearance since his disastrous solo trip into the maze. Sweaty and in pain, all but gasping for breath, he still felt a heady rush at the achievement and a flush of success as he approached the familiar gathering spot. The trip may have taken him ten times longer than it normally would, but he'd made it, and without his dithering caretakers to boot.

The gladers, milling busily around the tables and lining up for their breakfast, spotted him coming down the path and waited silently for him to join them. As he took the last few awkward hops into the area the boys cheered, and he'd never felt more welcome in his life. The other runners rushed him, slapping him on the back and all but carrying him to a table, the other boys reaching out and patting him wherever they could reach, lobbing fond wishes and happy exclamations his way as he was swept along. Minho's smile was as wide as one of the gates by the time Newt was shoved onto a bench beside him and reached he over, punching the blonde lightly on the shoulder in affection.

"Son of a bitch, look who _finally_ decided to join us. I knew you were just milkin' it up there, lazing around and being waited on!" Minho crowed, grabbing Newt in a one armed embrace. "You're looking fine and fit and ready to run again, _isn't he_ guys?"

Newt winced a little at the punch, snorted out a chuckle through the hug.

"It'll probably be a while before I'm even up to _thinking_ about running. I've gotta get the hang of walking with these bloody sticks, first! "

Laughter erupted around them, and a plate of food was shoved in front of him. He dug in, starving. If there was one good thing that came from pushing himself through the last few days, it was that his normally subpar appetite had been boosted – he found himself to be constantly famished, and voraciously gobbled up anything he could get his hands on. After all, sweat and pain burned a startling amount of calories.

Weak and aching but buoyed by the feeling of unconditional camaraderie from the gladers, lifted by the company of his friends, he half listened to the lively conversations around him as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Turning his head this way and that, drinking in the faces around him, his spirits dipped a little when he was unable to spot his prey, though truth be told he was also a little relieved. He had a number of things to say to the man,none of which needed to be shared with the others.

"Adrian already been through, then?" Newt asked, trying for apathy and failing miserably.

Minho rolled his eyes at the predictable question, but it was Ben who piped up to answer.

"Yeah, he hasn't been surfacing til lunch or later, lately. Probl'y working on some _special, secret project._ " Ben speculated. The other runners around them groaned and grumbled, obviously tired of hearing the same old song and dance, though the sentiment was new to Newt.

"Secret project?"

"Of course, why _else_ would he be here?"

"Get serious, Ben." Jack sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I AM shuckin' serious!" Ben asserted, his eyes just a little wild. "Maybe... _maybe_ he's some kind of **spy** , sent here to, I don't know, do experiments on us. I **bet** that's it! He's just _waiting_ , biding his time, _lulling_ us into a false sense of security as he works on gaining our trust and then... _ **BAM!**_ " He banged his fist so hard on the table that the plates and forks all jumped, as did a few of the neighboring boys who'd been listening in on the unusual monologue.

"You've got klunk for brains, Ben." Minho groaned. "You been listening to scary stories the slicers cook up again?"

"Yeah doofus, you been sniffing glue or what?" Jack pitched in.

Newt forced himself to laugh along with the others, trying not to be irritated with his fellow runner or take offense to Ben's paranoid words. What right did he have, really, to get pissy with Ben when he himself had hurled far worse insults?

Intentional dawdling, Newt lingered far longer than necessary over a second portion of food, waiting until the other tables had cleared out and he was sitting alone with Minho.

He'd worked with this boy, run with him, bled with him for almost two years. He knew Minho's face, his expressions and moods, understood the way his brain worked. He couldn't deny that the keeper was thrilled to see him up and about, but a current of underlying anger had gradually began to poke through the smiles during the meal; Newt figured that it was best to take his lumps now and just get it over with.

"What's on your mind, Min?" Newt asked neutrally, giving his keeper the perfect opportunity.

"Just curious about something, maybe you can clear it up for me." Minho chirped in a dangerously sweet tone. "Exactly, pray tell, what the **hell** were you _doing_ out there in the maze? Did I not _JUST INFORM YOU_ that you were **off** the active list? Did I not _specifically tell you_ to take some time and get your head back in the game? What the _shuck_ were you _ **thinking?**_ "

Newt grimaced at the biting words, glancing around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. He really, really didn't want to risk any glader just wandering by and getting in the middle of such a sensitive discussion.

"I _wasn't_ bloody thinking, that was the problem." Newt said lowly, a bit of a challenge in his voice. "Look, I did something stupid, okay? And paid for it by completely _bollocksing_ myself up. I screwed up, I'm **sorry**. If that what you want to hear?"

"What I _want_ to hear is the damn _truth_." Minho hissed. "What the hell **happened** out there? _**Why**_ did you go out there in the _first_ damn place?"

"I wanted to...try something." Newt hedged, uncomfortable with the idea of discussing something so personal is such a public place. It wasn't really lying, he reasoned, if he allowed Minho to jump to his own conclusions. "An idea that came to my head. But...I buggered it up, okay? I'll be the first to say it, I was _wrong_ , shame on me." Newt said carefully, intentionally being as vague as possible. "I'm not some thumb-suckin' _greenie_ with something to prove – I tried, I **failed** , I'll _know better_ than to try it again."

"What was it? What did you – " Minho asked suspiciously, before Newt cut him off.

"What does it _matter?_ It didn't bloody work, did it, so there's no point in talking about it. I don't even want to think about it, to be honest." Newt added softly, appealing to his friend's well hidden soft side. "Let it go, Min. _Please_ , just let it go."

Minho visibly struggled with it for a minute, before relenting and doing as his old friend had asked. The worst of his curiosity and anger faded away as he eyed Newt, soothed away by the the runner's company. Minho said a silent word of thanks in his head, grateful that he wouldn't have to add Newt's name to the others on the wall any time soon.

"You're lucky you didn't crack that empty head of yours wide open. _Although,_ a good thwack on the noggin isn't **all** bad; it might've done the rest of us a favor and knocked some sense into you." Minho teased easily, wrapping an arm around the blonde's neck and yanking him (as gently as he could) into a loose headlock, grinding his knuckles into the already disordered hair.

" **Oi!** "

"Serves you right." Minho chuckled, feeling lighter than he had since the day he'd barred Newt from the maze. "You best learn to think before you act, _shank_."

"Okay, okay, I got it! _**Leave off!**_ "

"Just wanna make sure it sinks in." Minho laughed, stopping the torment but leaving his arm around the injured boy's neck a moment longer as a sign of affection. Newt sighed and stayed still himself, basking in the brotherly bond. He waited until they had extricated themselves from the odd embrace to speak again.

"Min, I wonder if...could you give me a hand with something?"

* * *

Adrian made a point of keeping busy, knowing there was no point in dwelling on what waited for him at the end of the week. He'd intentionally kept away from the medhut, unwilling to deal with another highly charged emotional scene, giving the injured runner and the working medjacks plenty of space. And, if he was willing to admit it, he was still angry, still hurt himself. He didn't know if he was ready to face the kid, and with the pressure of a very short time limit on his hands, wasn't sure if they'd be able to come to a resolution before his time ran out.

It was just another item on the long list of things that occupied his mind during the long, restless nights.

He sat in the soothing calm of his little home, carefully and systematically carving a little piece of wood as he thought his way through the last couple of days.

He'd burned the cryptic note he'd written for his recorded message and buried the little memory chip, carefully wrapped in plastic, ten steps from the water barrel behind his house. Now he could only hope that the right hands found it, and had the fortitude and perseverance to push through until they could decipher the information.

He'd organized most of his personal things into a couple of smallish boxes, storing them under the bed and leaving the rest of the house furnished only by generic, necessary items. He'd pulled both Alby and Stephen aside separately, making arrangements for the dwelling and contents to pass on to Stephen, Alec and Brandon in the event of his departure or death. Stephen was horrified at the morbidity of the conversation, not yet understanding why something so macabre even had to be discussed. Alby was merely resigned, sadly accepting the request without question or argument. Knowing that his wishes would be followed gave him some small measure of solace, assuring him that his beloved 'girls' would have a safe, private spot to continue their essential work in the glade.

He'd watched Alby running around steadily, urgently trying to put together all the elements of the upcoming celebration, going to meeting after meeting, haggling, negotiating, dictating. He'd come to the man a couple of times with questions, or needing clarification, but appeared to be learning the rhythm and flow of the planning stage with admirable speed. Adrian was confident that after this event, the young leader wouldn't have any further need to doubt his management skills, and would be fully ready for whatever the gladers asked of him. With the bonfire looming, Adrian was satisfied that after tidying up one or two more little details and chores his affairs would be fully in order.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his rambling reflection; he didn't feel like dropping his current project just at the moment, so he absently called out.

"Yeah, it's open."

Not bothering to look up, he focused on the last couple of delicate lines on the piece he was carving.

"Have a seat, I'm almost done."

"...Hey Addy."

At the hesitant, shy voice his shoulders tensed, and he whipped his head up only to see the newly mobile runner standing in his doorway, Minho a half step behind him with a hand lightly on his back in case he stumbled. Adrian tilted his head toward the couch, frustrated, knowing there would be no way to get rid of Newt now.

He'd have to face him.

He turned stubbornly back to his project, seemingly ignoring the pair as they shambled their way over to the couch and Newt eased himself down onto the soft surface with a sighing groan. The silence was thick, just their combined breathing and the soft scritching of Adrian's knife on hard wood to fill the air.

"You can step out now, Minho."

The words, coolly delivered, made Newt shiver a little. The keeper jutted his chin out defiantly.

"Sorry, but if it's all the same – "

"It's fine." Newt said, far more calmly than he felt. "If we could...have a little space, here, Min. _Please_."

The protective boy jerked a shoulder grumpily, rolling to the balls of his feet before walking out the door, slamming it behind himself and leaving no doubt as to his feelings on the matter.

Breathing. Scritching. Newt swore he could hear the sound of a single bead of sweat, slowly running down the back of his neck. Still, he held his tongue, allowing Adrian to finish up whatever it was he was working on before he turned to the runner, his eyes dark and inscrutable.

"What is it, kid?"

Oh, how Newt wanted to cringe at the cold, distant tone. How his guts twisted at the dismissive, aloof words, the man's apparent reluctance look him in the face. He deserved every bit of it and more, for how he'd acted.

"I wanted to see you." He said softly.

"Why?"

The man obviously wasn't going to make this easy for him and nor, if Newt was perfectly honest, should he. He sucked in a deep breath and spat out the words he'd been working on for days.

"After you...left...Alby came by, sorted me out on...a few things. I need to tell you that I was wrong, _completely_ out of line with what I said to you. I know you care about us...about _me_. You've done nothing but help us since you got here, done **so much** for us. I don't really think you're selfish. I know...I know you'd stay if you could. I was right pissed, totally done – but that's no excuse for the things I said. I'm sorry, Addy, _so bloody sorry_ for acting like a stupid bloody **shank**. _I'm sorry._ "

Adrian got up from his chair and walked to the one window he'd left open, looking out into the green, his back to the boy.

"You sucker-punched me, kid."

"I know it." Newt conceded, anxious over the lack of inflection in the words. "I wanted to hurt you, like **I** was hurting. It was an awful, angry, **selfish** thing to do."

"What you did, what you said...it _gutted_ me. It would have been less painful if you'd slid your knife between my ribs."

"I know. **God** , I know. Shuck it, Addy, I can't take it back. If I could, I'd stuff those words back down my throat before they could crawl out and get to you. But I can't. I don't know what I can do to fix this. If I did... _whatever_ it is, I'd do it in a _heartbeat_. _**Please**_ , tell me how to fix this."

"Even I don't know that. You're going to have to learn how to find your own way; you won't always be able to come to me for an answer. Before long, I'll be gone – "

"You won't. I won't let them take you. I _swear,_ we'll figure something out, find a way to – "

" **Stop!** Just...just _stop_." Adrian placed both hands on the window sill and hung his aching head, trying to find the words he knew the boy needed to hear.

"You have to stop fighting this. It's going to happen, whether you like it or not, whether **I** like it or not. It's hard _enough_...you're not making it...just _stop_. I don't have the energy to fight with you over this anymore, okay? You're going to have to accept the fact that one day soon, I'm **not** going to be here. That's _just_ the way it is."

"How can you just accept that? How can you be so calm about it?" Newt mumbled, his heart twisting at the idea.

"Calm?"

Adrian turned to face the boy now, and Newt saw a look in his eyes he'd never seen before – a look he recognized well.

" _Calm?_ I'm terrified. I keep my hands busy so I don't start screaming. I lay in bed and lose myself in the music, sleeping as little as possible, so I don't drown in the nightmares. I don't...I _can'_ t..."

The pain, the dread, the fear on Adrian's face smoothed away all the jagged thoughts he'd had about the man's apparent lack of desire to fight. He wordlessly held out a hand, waiting until Adrian walked over and took it, tugging the man down to sit beside him on the couch. Leaning over a little he pressed his good side against Adrian, commiserating, comforting and taking comfort. They sat, stone still, for what felt like a long time before Newt broke the silence.

"You talked to me while I was asleep, kept me company so I wouldn't be alone in the dark. I couldn't make out the words, but I remember your voice. Alby told me a little about your...family. I missed the stories the first time around; could you...would you tell me some of them now?"

* * *

When Minho had collected Newt after their talk, Adrian found himself vastly relieved that they'd been able to come to terms. Adrian breathed easier in the following days for having settled things with the boy, grateful that the majority of the tension had been dispelled while they still had the chance. Though the hateful words still gnawed at him from time to time, though the pain from the argument still stung, he was able to move beyond his anger and sense of betrayal and interact with the boy much as he had before the whole fiasco.

It wasn't quite the same, though. Each evening since he'd found his feet Newt asked if he could sleep over at the man's house, but Adrian denied the requests by citing projects or meetings. Newt appeared to take the refusals with good grace, though the man could see the wounded look that briefly flashed into his eyes before the boy could change the subject.

It couldn't be helped. Adrian wasn't in the frame of mind to accept company, at the moment.

The evening before the bonfire, Adrian headed directly back to his home after dinner – after denying Newt's request, yet again. With what he had planned for the evening, there was no way he could have the boy hanging around. He barred the door, shuttered the windows, lit the candles. Pulling one of the boxes of personal items from beneath his bed, he set it on the soft surface, a resigned expression on his face. He knew he'd been putting this off, but he couldn't leave the scales unbalanced.

He had debt left to pay.

He pulled on the support pieces, the padding, the dress, the contour changing cincher. He painted his face, reddening his lips, darkening his eyes. He tied back his hair and eased on the hand made wig, pinning it carefully in place. He tied on the thin, lacy black mask, looking into the small polished surface that served as a mirror.

Althea looked back at him, one more time.

Tucking the rest of the paraphernalia away neatly, he took a deep breath and headed out into the night.

* * *

Alby was frazzled, tired, cranky. As the sky grew dark he leaned up against one of the supply buildings by the cook hut, halfheartedly listening to the grumbles and complaints from Gally and Fynn about how shorthanded they were, with half their boys working on projects for the upcoming evening. He'd been running around for days, stressing over details small and large, busting his hump to try and pull together the extravagant celebration by the deadline that loomed over them all. Not that the other gladers were aware of this – Alby had kept his word, holding his tongue and allowing the others to maintain their blissful ignorance while he sweat and worried and lost sleep.

In and among all the party planning, the running around, the back and forth, he'd made himself spend a little time with Newt every day. They'd had a short, deep and illuminating conversation the day after the runner's fallout with Adrian, and while there was a level of trust that would take a long while to redevelop, Alby had sorely missed the companionship of his friend and was glad to have him back. He was also relieved to see that the duo had apparently managed to mend fences in an acceptable way, once given the time and space to do so.

Now, if only he didn't know what came next, maybe he could just relax and enjoy the benefits.

At the very least he could use a break, a couple of hours of no thinking, no stress, just peace.

"Excuse."

As though he'd wished her into existence, Althea stepped out of the woods and into the circle of suddenly dumbfounded boys. Alby almost swallowed his tongue at the sight, the tiniest prickle of heat in the back of his eyes. After the last time, he'd never expected to see her again. And yet here she was, walking directly up to him and taking his hands. If he could have blushed, his face would be red as a poppy.

"Excuse." She said again, that charming accent thick and exotic. "We are needed to be elsewhere."

Without further explanation she took Alby's hand, briskly leading the befuddled – and thrilled – leader past the sealed western gate and deep into the woods. Saying nothing, she navigated the barely discernible paths as though she could see in the dark, her steps sure and without hesitation. Her intentions unclear, her mood deadly serious, Alby's nerves got the better of him and he broke the silence.

"What's going on Althea?"

"I have...need of your company." Came the low, even reply. He halted, pulling her to a stop in front of him, the silhouette of her back all he could make out in the lack of light.

"What happened, all of a sudden, that you – "

She spun on her heal without warning, sliding her free hand up his back to grab a handful of his shirt, pressing that tall curvy body up against him and resting her head on his shoulder. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before wrapping an arm around her and holding her close, breathing in her scent.

"What...what's going on?"

She turned and captured his lips in a quick, hard kiss, the fierce edge of it tinged with sadness and desperation.

"I have need of your company." She said again softly. "Will you give to me?"

"Of course." Alby whispered, his head spinning.

She released him and, still gripping his hand, led him to the little house in the woods, pulling him inside and barring the door against unwanted visitors. Once inside, she peeled off her mask and sat at the table across from him, her face naked, her eyes sharp on his face.

They played a game of chess, then another, talking little. They shared a jar of alcohol, not enough for either to get tipsy, but plenty to take the nervous, tense edge out of the air. When his gentle questions continued to elicit vague unsatisfying answers Alby stopped asking and just sat, drinking in the sight of her and trying to content himself with her company alone. She looked so vulnerable, so tired. When she moved to set up the board a third time he couldn't take it anymore and reached out, taking her hand, waiting until she looked up and met his eyes.

"Why am I here, Althea? What do you want from me?"

A long, pregnant pause.

"You are smart, kind, generous man who care for boys, keep safe. Keep happy. You work to bone for them, neglect your care for their happy. You need night, no worry. This, I can give. I **need** give, for last time."

His fingers tightened on hers, his chest constricted painfully.

"I...I know that you won't be... _here_ much longer. I know that you have to...go. I _wish_ – "

She let go of his hand and got up, coming around the table and straddling him, sitting down in his lap and linking her hands behind his head. His blood danced gleefully out of his head, despite his efforts to remain focused on the difficult, painful conversation. Her nose just inches from him, her smile was older than time, and just as sorrowful.

"Do not wish for what cannot be. You are strong man, will keep boys safe. Live in now, only now; tomorrow is _tomorrow_ , no wish can change this."

She closed the distance and kissed him deeply, his hands finding her hips and sliding up to run across her back. He expected her to pull back as she always did, before things went to far, but to his shock she dove deeper, moved closer, grinding against him until he was the one who gasped and broke the kiss. Feeling her lips against the skin of his neck, shivering when her tongue darted out to taste the flesh, his eyes widened as he suddenly realized something.

She'd called him a man. In her eyes, he wasn't a boy any longer, he was a man.

She levered herself off of him, her breath uneven, and held out a hand. He took it, and she led him to the bed, pushing him down onto it and tugging off his boots before crawling in beside him. Though both remained clothed, when she straddled him, he decided that if he died now he'd leave behind no regrets, and would go out with a smile on his face.

She couldn't give him everything. She couldn't fully give him her body, couldn't fully take his. But for tonight, for the patient, caring, selfless leader of the glade, for the boy who'd grown into a man, age be damned, she could give him the night. She touched and tasted, allowed herself to be held and pressed close, stayed with him and took him to the end. When he lay, exhausted, spent, she curled into his warmth, and his arm pulled her protectively close. Allowing someone to stay, remaining with him through the night would have been a mistake under different circumstances.

Tonight it was the only thing she had left to give, so she gave it to the one who needed it the most.

And in the giving, took a little comfort.

* * *

Author's note ~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby


	51. Say Something

Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _Tonight it was the only thing she had left to give, so she gave it to the one who needed it the most._

 _And in the giving, took a little comfort._

* * *

Alby woke early and alone, the bed cold and empty beside him, the house deserted. Even without opening his eyes he could tell that he tell that he was alone; the silence was too complete, too heavy for there to be anyone else in the room. He kept his eyes closed and snuggled in a little, delaying the moment when he'd have to get up face the day for as long as he could. He ran through last night in his head, focusing on the little details and trying to commit everything to memory, not wanting to forget a moment of it. He turned sluggishly, intending to roll onto his stomach and bury his head under the pillow that still smelled like her when his hand brushed up against something beside him. Cracking his eyelids a fraction, he focused on the items sitting beside him on the bed.

A roll of leather and a small, rough drawstring bag.

Picking up the bag, he immediately felt the distinctive shapes of the many small pieces it contained, the carved wooden pieces rattling as he shook the bag. He understood the implications in a heartbeat, and was filled with a bittersweet gratitude.

Althea had left him her chess set.

He fumbled the bag open, upending it and dumping the figures out in a pile on the bed. Supporting himself on his elbows, he rooted around until he found the specific one he sought - the black queen.

Althea always played the black.

He ran a thumb repetitively over the smooth curves of the figure, mentally saying the rules of the game, over and over in his head until he was certain that he'd be able to recite them off by heart.

Scooting over until he sat at the edge of the bed, he retrieved his knife from the little table where he'd left it the night before and, his brows furrowed in deep concentration, carefully carved a small A into the bottom of the black queen. He blew the fine buildup of dust away, staring down at the scratchy letter now permanently etched into the dark lips curved into a small smile.

He'd never see her again, that was a fact. It was hard to accept, and painful, but he knew it to be true.

And yet now some small part of her would always be right there, beside him, his partner in every game he played. His assassin and guard, his right hand, his strength.

His queen.

* * *

Adrian could have done without starting his day at dawn but, all things considered, there were worse ways to spend his morning than hanging out at the cook hut. Lee and Dave openly welcomed his company; Frypan merely grunted in greeting before pointing imperiously towards a small mountain of onions and potatoes that needed to be peeled in preparation for that night's feast. Adrian applied himself to the task without complaint, chatting easily with the other two preps as they all worked, even managing to pull a barking laugh out of Frypan a time or two. When breakfast was well at hand, he helped the head cook to cube up the meat and get it marinating before bidding them farewell and taking his leave.

He sat with his girls for the meal and fully enjoyed their company, and their excitement over the impending festivities.

He worked with the track hoes after breakfast, making the time to say a word or two to every glader he'd interacted with during the three months of his stay .

He shared lunch with the builders, bickering over techniques and arguing over hypothetical builds and the potential problems that they might encounter.

After a long, heated and thoroughly amusing debate over wood versus stone versus concrete for building, Adrian slipped away and headed for the swimming hole, quickly skinning off his clothes and diving into the cold clear water. He washed, he swam up and down the short stretch, he held his breath and ducked under the surface to float weightlessly in the pale blue light. He pulled himself up on the same stone he'd sunned himself on during his first swim and sat just as he had, eyes closed to the warmth of the sun, remembering the fun and frivolity of goofing around in the water with the irritated blonde.

Dusk found him sitting on the bank of the small waterway, dried and clothed, watching the water turn indigo in the fading light. He could distantly hear the tinny ping-ping-ping of Frypan beating a large metal spoon against an empty pot – the universal sound for dinner time. He sighed heavily, actively debating just staying where he was and enjoying every last drop of alone time he could get. Accepting that it would be selfish to do so he relented, heaving himself up and making his way to the bonfire.

The last to arrive at the gathering, Adrian slipped in unnoticed among the heartily feasting and laughing gladers. He filled a plate without much enthusiasm, eating generously despite his lack of appetite and watched the boys bantering and joking, their gleeful energy infectious. He wanted to saturate himself in it, lose himself in the exuberance of the others, just for the night. Sliding into a rambunctious knot of sloppers and builders he steeped himself in the experience, pleased to see the first part of the evening was moving along without a hitch.

Alby stepped in front of the gathered boys with a bundle of rough wooden sticks that looked suspiciously like primitive spears under his arm. Instead of making his usual rousing speech he pointed to each keeper in turn, inviting them forward to stand with him and handing each boy one of the wooden poles. He also waved a confused Newt forward, bringing the runner to stand directly on his right side. An expectant hush fell as the assembled leaders stood united and faced the waiting crowd.

"We are _stronger_ now, in better shape **now** than we've ever been before. With all the advances and improvements done lately, I feel like it's a good time to let you guys know that I'm appointing a second in command. After all, I can only be in _three_ places at one time."

A chuckle rippled through the crowd.

"A leader, or a second, needs to be reliable; someone you already _know_ and _trust_. Someone who's earned **your** respect, and _**mine**_."

Jeff had sidled up beside Adrian at some point before Alby started talking and elbowed the man in the ribs now, wiggling his eyebrows excitedly when Adrian glanced over at him.

"He's talking about _you!_ " Jeff hissed in a happy stage whisper. Adrian bit back a sound that was part laugh, part frustrated groan.

"Way off base, Jeff. You're barking up the wrong tree with that idea."

"Just **watch!** " Jeff insisted, a glint of hero worship shining in his eyes as he looked at his mentor.

"Someone who holds us together." Alby continued. "And luckily enough, the shank who **best** fits that bill just shucked himself up good and proper, so he's got nothin' but free time to give me a hand. I name Newt, former runner, as my second." Alby said definitively, to the instant murmurs of approval from the other boys.

"If you can't find me, go to him. If I'm away, or out sick, or tied up with something else, he's in charge. Listen to him as you do to me."

Newt stood stunned, propped up on his crutches, his jaw on the ground and his face pale. As the murmur died to an eager silence Alby struck a match, the sound hauntingly loud in the quiet night air. He lit a long thing twig, the sudden orange flare throwing a devilish light over the faces of the leader, the second in command, and the waiting keepers.

"Enough of this mushy klunk; let's get this party started. **Spears forward!** " He called, walking along the loose line of keepers and setting the tip of each pole aflame, until all held a brightly burning spear in front of them.

" **Hold 'em high!** " Alby demanded and the keepers instantly obeyed, the collective flames almost too bright to look at.

Alby slowly pivoted until he faced the cold, unlit hearth, the others mirroring his moves like some kind of oddly thrilling dance, choreographed to heighten the suspense. With a wide, elated grin that only his keepers could see, his defiant voice rang out into the night..

" **Light 'im up!** "

Going on instinct they simultaneously threw their spears into the childish wooden sculpture, torching the figure instantly and illuminating the rest of the area with a wash of pale gold light. The drummers, waiting unseen in the darkness behind the fireplace, recognized the cue and started hammering out a fast tribal beat as the effigy went up in flames, the symbolic sacrifice popping and hissing and adding to the primordial feel to the music. The waiting boys whooped and cheered, jumping forward to stomp and jump and dance.

Adrian stayed where he was, watching the simple ceremony, his face full of pride and respect. The young leader had done a magnificent job of pulling the others together, bringing in the keepers without excluding the laymen, and publicly designating Newt as the leader they all knew he already was. Alby had done well.

He made his way over to the side of the area, by the food tables, watching as Newt hobbled over with surprising speed. The boy appeared to have mastered the use of the cumbersome aides and was getting around very well on his own now.

"Some shindig." Adrian said casually, gesturing towards the rowdy boys with his head.

"Yeah." Newt agreed, puffing only a little. "Too bad I can't dance yet, I'd leave all these buggers in the _dust._ "

Adrian just laughed at the mental image.

"I bet you would, kid. Or maybe I should call you _Mr-Second-In-Command_ now?"

Newt winced at the congratulatory words.

"Yeah, well, I've always known Alby was a bit off his rocker. No one in their right bloody mind would put **me** in charge of _anything!_ "

"You're selling yourself short, kid." Adrian said seriously, pulling out a cigarette from his last pack, one he'd hoarded specifically for this night. He lit it and inhaled deeply, savoring it. "You're a hell of a lot more important around here than you may _think_."

Newt just scoffed at that and Adrian wisely dropped the subject, unwilling to kindle fresh tension between them over something so trivial. As they watched the dancers the silence between them stretched on, becoming increasingly uncomfortable for the boy. Newt tried not to squirm, not knowing what to say to break it. It used to be so easy.

"Addy, what do you – "

An earth shattering, bone jarring alarm rang out, slicing through the happy atmosphere and killing it instantly. The drummers stopped playing, the dancers froze, and in the abrupt quiet every soul present could hear the unmistakable sound of the box creaking upwards. Adrian closed his eyes and inclined his head, letting out a little huff of air through his nose. The others, panicking at the unusual event, dropped everything and ran towards the center of the glade to see what was going on. The man was left standing alone in the vacant area, the fire crackling in a menacing way.

Adrian lingered, finishing his cigarette and mechanically crushing it out beneath his foot, not in any particular rush. He already had a pretty good idea as to what would happen next. When he felt he couldn't put it off any longer he trudged out to the middle of the central meadow, following the glow of many hastily grabbed torches. The gladers stood in a tight circle around the box, shoulders touching and backs rigid, as if shielding a fallen friend. He cleared his throat.

The boys closest turned when they heard him, shuffling out of the way to create a narrow path to the heart of the circle.

Alby was down in the rusted lift, holding his light up close to what looked like a set of shackles, bolted into the side of the grating, a couple of feet up from the floor. A long leather strap with a buckle on one side was threaded through the open weave of the wall in above and between the two cuffs. Alby held a partially crumpled piece of paper in his fist.

It took him three tries to pull himself out of the box.

The boys were buzzing at the bizarre arrival, tense and on edge from the unsettling event. Alby held up a hand, and every voice went silent as they all leaned in, eager to hear what was going on. Alby moved to stand in front of Adrian, his eyes solid black in the inky night. The man cocked an eyebrow and waited; and the leader held up the wrinkled paper with a lightly shaking hand. There were only two words on the page, written in fat black letters.

 **TIME'S UP**

Adrian laughed bitterly, glancing down through the grates at the abyss below.

"They can wait until morning." Adrian stated matter-of-factually, looking up to the star spattered sky in contemplation. The leader shuffled his feet nervously, not sure how to broach the subject.

"Adrian, this…" Alby's face was ashen, his voice cracking. "This _means_ …"

"This means," Adrian replied woodenly, "That I could _ **really**_ use a drink."

The other gladers hissed and whispered, most so shocked at the sudden proclamation that they couldn't fully process what they'd seen. Adrian turned and walked back to the site of the bonfire, the cheerful fire welcoming the assembly back as though nothing had happened. The man headed straight to Gally's table, barely catching the builder's eye before helping himself to a large jar of the boy's special recipe. The boys watched silently as he lifted the jar and drained it in one long, slow, deliberate series of swallows. With hardly a moment to breathe in between, he lifted and started in on a second, drinking more than half of it before turning to the waiting faces.

" _ **Well?**_ The show must go on. If this is the last night for me, see if you can make it a memorable one!"

The flippant dare rippled through the dumbstruck boys, snapping them out of it, and most gratefully scattered to other activities. It would take a little time for the general population to wrap their heads around the imminent change in the status quo. Only a small knot remained around the man; the leader, his newly appointed second, the two medjacks and the builder whose liquor the man was steadfastly working his way through all waited until the majority of the crowd had dispersed. When they were all but alone, everyone started talking at the same time.

"What the **shuck** is going on?"

"Why did the box – "

"What does it _mean?_ "

" _Why_ would they – "

"They _can't_ – "

"We won't **let** them – "

"You _ **can't!**_ "

"Listen." Adrian cut in, his tone even."We'll deal with tomorrow when tomorrow gets here. As for tonight…well, I'm not gone _yet_. I'm standing here, aren't I? Might as well party like the world is ending. Cut loose, boys; I plan to."

No one wanted to accept that sentiment but, given the ring of authority and finality in Adrian's voice, none felt they really had the right to argue. They followed him like body guards as he worked his way through the various stations, spending time with the drummers, the dancers, the wrestlers at the ring. He challenged Gally to one last match, stretching it out to almost half an hour before solidly tromping the boy to the cheers of the spectators. The two medjacks had stepped away before the victory and were huddled in a corner of the area under the shadows of the trees, talking in low voices and gesturing angrily at each other. Alby and Newt stood by mutely, watching the man, unable to find the words to express how they felt.

After Gally courageously ate dirt and slunk off to sulk, Adrian as rightful champion turned and did something totally unexpected. He held out a hand to Alby, wiggling his fingers, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"What do you say, _fearless leader?_ Think you can best me?"

"I don't want to fight you, Adrian."

"Come on, give me your best!"

Alby sighed, but joined the man in the ring. He waited for the call to start and stepped forward, locking his hands on to the man's shoulders and robotically struggling to push him out of the ring, but his heart wasn't in it. While they were in a half clinch, Adrian leaned forward and spoke quietly in the boy's ear.

"Is **this** your best? Are you ready to _give up_ so easily? I wonder what your _lady friend_ would say, how disappointed **she'd** be, if she could see you _now_."

Alby twisted furiously, throwing out a leg and hooking the man's, his fingers tightening enough to leave bruises. Outrage and anger on his face, he ducked and maneuvered himself out of the Adrian's hold, dropping the man face first in the sand. Adrian rolled to his back, propping himself up on his elbows and letting out a deep belly laugh as the crowd cheered. Alby grinned wryly, the light bulb belatedly going on in his head as he understood exactly what the man was doing.

He was the leader; the others would all pick up their cues from him. If he couldn't hold it together, everyone would suffer all the more. He pasted a cocky grin on his face before holding out a hand to the man.

"Ready for me to kick your ass _again?_ " He smirked. The man took the hand and allowed Alby to pull him to his feet.

"I don't know, my _poor delicate self_ may not survive a second defeat, but if you **insist** …."

They wrestled in earnest now, the mood from the surrounding boys taking a noticeable upswing. As the night grew long, Adrian downed another three jars of alcohol, taking frequent breaks to smoke from his dwindling supply of cigarettes. Newt said nothing, staying close, watching as the man drank his way through the night, laughing and joking as though tomorrow were just another day. Finally, as the crowd began to thin and make their way to their own beds, exhausted from the feasting, festivities and emotional rollar coaster of the evening, Adrian tried to make a stealthy exit.

With the better part of a gallon of liquor in his system, stealth wasn't exactly an option. Even hindered by his crutches, Newt caught up to the man easily as he shambled beyond the ring of light cast by the dying fire.

"Addy."

"Kid? Whattre **you** still doing here? You shllllda been in bed aaagges ago." The man slurred slightly, blinking owlishly at the boy. "Gotsta _heal_ and all tha."

Newt watched him with dark, sober, sad eyes.

"Let me stay at your place tonight. Please."

Adrian considered the request as best he could through the alcoholic mist obscuring his brain. The small logical voice in the back of his head told him it was a bad idea, but here and now he couldn't muster the energy to say no and deal with the argument that was bound to follow.

"Yeah, ts'fine. I guess."

Newt followed the man silently through the woods, him slow on his crutches, Adrian slow as he navigated the bumpy pathways with his head swimming. When they eventually made it to the little cabin, Newt gratefully collapsed into a chair as the man washed his face at the little basin.

"Addy, I don't – "

"Not t'night, kid." Adrian said quickly, suddenly sounding much less muddled, cutting off what would surely be a tight, tense scene. "I don't want – just, not t'night, kid."

Adrian's tightly controlled, brittle voice cut Newt to the bone.

"Okay Addy." He acquiesced, his throat burning.

"Look, you'cn have the bed, I'll take the couch. I just wanna get some sleep, a'right?"

Newt hauled himself up and shuffled over to the bed obediently, everything he wished he could say and do eating a hole in his guts. He lay awake for a long time, his eyes half open in the deceptively cheerful light of the single burning candle before he finally dozed off.

A couple of hours later he snapped awake, his eyes flying open in the darkness. He listened carefully, trying to figure out what had woken him so abruptly. He was almost ready to write it off and roll over to try and go back to sleep when he heard the quiet, shuddering breath. He shimmied over to the edge of the bed, wincing as he rolled until he was sitting upright. Reaching out blindly, he felt along the nearest table until his fingers found a small box. Encouraged, he felt around again until he could grasp a small candle stub. It took a minute to navigate in the dark, but he managed to spark a match and light the wick without burning himself or setting the bed on fire.

In the sudden light, he could see Adrian sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His whole form trembled like a blade of grass in the breeze. Newt's stomach twisted.

"A-Addy?"

"Kid. What're you doing awake?"

Adrian's voice was hoarse and dull and fully sober, partially muffled by the hands that continued to cover his face.

"I...I _just_..."

"You should go back to sleep. There's hours yet before daybreak."

They were down to hours, now.

Something in Newt calcified at the thought, and he stoutly pushed his own despair away. He couldn't give in and wallow in his own grief, not now when it would leave Adrian to suffer alone.

"I just...I just need something first. Can you come here for a minute?"

Adrian took a deep breath and rose, wiping his nose and mouth with the back of his hand. He walked over to the bed and offered the boy a shaky smile, trying to put on a friendly face to mask his own pain. Newt held out a hand, and Adrian took it, ready to pull the boy up and help him outside for the bathroom break he expected. Instead, Newt tugged gently on the man's hand, urging him down on the bed.

"I don't think I can get back to sleep on my own. Can you...can you just lay here with me for a while?"

Adrian was silent for a moment before letting out an incomprehensible gurgle of frustration.

"Fine, just.. _.fine_. Scoot over."

Newt rolled back into the bed, moving to the far side as Adrian blew out the candle and flopped onto the bed next to him. They lay there, side by side in the dark, much as they had the first night Newt had spent the night. After a moment, Newt scooched a little closer.

"Can we listen to the music player?"

Newt felt the shrug and, taking it as an affirmative, he reached under the pillow and pulled out the now familiar device. He inserted one bud in his ear and poked the other at Adrian's arm in the dark until the man reached up and plugged himself in. Turning it on, they lay and listened to the quiet music for a while, the air between them heavier than a lead blanket. Newt squirmed a little, shifting closer again. Squirmed again.

Adrian sighed.

"What _now_ , kid?"

"It's my leg - I can't get comfortable." He lied guiltlessly, inching closer until their shoulders were touching. "I think if I...do you _mind?_ " He asked timidly, rolling to his side and moving slowly.

Adrian muttered an oath under his breath, but lifted his arm and allowed Newt to cuddle up to his side, the boy throwing his good leg over one of Adrian's and loosely wrapping his arm around the man's waist.

"Is this alright?"

"Just shut up and sleep, okay?"

The man was still shaking, the arm around Newt's back badly trembling. Newt tightened his grip and rested his head on Adrian's shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth across the man's side in a soothing gesture. In the cradle of the dark, where Newt couldn't see his face, Adrian's breath caught once, then twice, his chest rising erratically beneath the boy's arm. Newt's eyes burned, but he refused to let his own tears come – now, right now, Adrian needed him to be the strong one. As much as it hurt him, he was determined to give his friend whatever comfort he could in these last few hours. It was precious little, really, but it was all he could do.

Newt held the man as he silently cried, as he soundlessly vented his fear and despair until his body eventually slackened and he fell into a light, restless sleep. Newt stayed awake, the man in his arms, his heart bleeding as the music played a funeral dirge in his ears.

.

 _Say something, I'm giving up on you_

 _I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you_

 _Anywhere, I would've followed you_

 _Say something, I'm giving up on you_

 _._

 _And I will swallow my pride_

 _You're the one that I love_

 _._

 _And I'm saying goodbye_

 _._

 _Say something, I'm giving up on you_

 _And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you_

 _And anywhere, I would have followed you_

 _Say something, I'm giving up on you_

 _._

 _Say something, I'm giving up on you_

 _._

 _Say something_

 _._

* * *

First light found them in the same position. As the dawn crept in, Newt wished with everything he had that he could freeze the moment so that they wouldn't have to face the hideousness to come. Unfortunately time stops for no man, and Adrian stirred before the sun had fully brightened the sky. He lay still for one last minute, warm and secure in the soft bed, before he gently pried the boy's extremities off of himself and rolled off the bed, his back towards Newt.

"I'm going to wash my face out back, make myself presentable."

Newt cleared his throat, but couldn't answer. As the man headed for the door, he hesitated on the threshold, speaking softly.

"Thank you."

When he returned, his carefully constructed facade of confidence was tightly back in place, his features pleasantly neutral when he went over and stood in front of where Newt waited morosely, lifelessly sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We should get going, get this done. There's no point in putting it off. But...one last thing, before we go. I figure I should probably give this to you here, when we don't have an audience."

He handed the boy a cloth wrapped package that he'd taken off of a shelf, a tiny sad smile on his face when the boy looked up at him. Newt opened the parcel, staring at it wordlessly.

It was a small rectangle of wood with curved edges, half the length of the Newt's thumb and as thin as a twig. Carved into the surface was a stylized replica of the phoenix that rode along the man's ribs. The indentations had been blackened with dye, so the design stood out against the pale blonde wood. Turning it over, the word HOPE was inscribed vertically in clean block letters, the sentiment clear and unmistakable. A small hole had been bored through the top of the token and a leather thong had been laced through, turning the piece into a lightweight necklace. Newt closed it inside his fist, clutching it to his chest as he closed his eyes. He felt the man's hand ruffle his hair affectionately as he fought not to cry, feeling like he might shatter into a thousand pieces

"Just in case you need the occasional a reminder." Adrian said quietly.

* * *

Adrian couldn't be persuaded to join the others for one last breakfast, insisting that he had no appetite. Mostly he just wanted to get it over with, and didn't see a point in drawing it out with a tense, emotional meal. He did take the time to light a cigarette – the very last in his package – and stood in the dreamy green of the forest to enjoy it, breathing in the fresh damp air and basking in the moment of peace. Grounded, resolute, ready, he collected Newt and they headed into the woods, leaving his house empty behind them.

As they approached the center of the glade, he wasn't at all surprised to see a small gathering waiting for them in the field by the box. Both medjacks and the leader, as well as his girls and every keeper, including Gally. While he hadn't been expecting the hard headed builder to come and see him off he appreciated the gesture of solidarity, and shook the proud boy's hand in gratitude. Everyone else looked a little haggard; restless nights had obviously plagued them as well. Speaking as little as possible he hugged his girls, Clint and an openly sniffling Jeff, and gripped forearms with a scowling Frypan before turning to Newt.

Holding it together by a thread, not caring about the watching eyes, the boy reached out and pulled Adrian into a hard hug, latching on tightly. One minute stretched into two, then three before the man unsuccessfully tried to nudge the boy away.

"You have to let go, kid." He murmured. "You've got to let me go."

When Newt refused to release his grip, Adrian briefly rested a hand on the top of his blonde head one more time before breaking the embrace.

Never one for long goodbyes he immediately turned and jumped down into the box, the almost simultaneous clank of Alby's boots echoing behind him. Someone needed to secure the man in the provided restraints and it was an unspoken understanding that, as leader, it was Alby's duty to do the miserable deed.

Without preamble Adrian plopped down with his back against the metal grate of the wall, reaching up and buckling the strap around his neck himself. He placed his left wrist in the rough metal shackle, watching Alby intently as he closed and secured the lock. Before Alby could reach for the other shackle, his fingers quaking, Adrian grabbed him hard by the shoulder and forced the boy to look him in the eye.

"Remember everything you've learned. Be strong, be _smart_. Be **patient**. Take care of them. _And_ yourself."

"I...I will." Alby promised, his voice deep and sad. Adrian released his shoulder, placing his right hand into the cuff so that Alby could lock him in place. Looking at Adrian, immobilized, vulnerable, Alby scrambled back and vaulted out of the cage, disgusted with himself.

Staring up at the small group of watching boys, seeing the leaders hard, angry face, it felt like his first glimpse of glade life all over again. He cleared his throat and spoke, the words clear and heartfelt.

"It's been a privilege. Goodbye."

The grate above him began to screech shut, shutting the man in an inescapable cage. With no time left, no words left to say, the boys silently watched as the box dropped down the shaft, quickly disappearing into the greasy blackness below.

Just like that, Adrian was gone.

* * *

After dark, with the rest of the gladers tucked up for the night, the boys who'd witnessed Adrian's departure gathered at the name wall. The man had steadfastly refused to engrave his name with the rest, claiming there was no point in a temporary guest leaving a permanent mark. The boys unanimously disagreed and now watched mournfully as Gally, having the strongest hands, diligently carved the man's name into the wall with a beat up knife and a small hammer. In the small halo of light thrown by the torches they carried, each in turn reminisced about Adrian had touched their lives.

"Remember when he gave us all haircuts? For ten minutes, it kind of felt like a _normal_ day, like we could have been somewhere, anywhere outside of this place." Minho muttered, lacking his usual sarcastic panache.

"He taught me _so much_...He's... _He's_ the only reason I know what I'm doing. He was always so...so _patient_ with me." Jeff added in a whisper, distraught.

"He showed me a trick or two in the kitchen that I won't soon be forgettin'." Frypan grunted, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

"That first bonfire, when he sang that song, it was the **coolest** thing I've ever heard."

"He made me think of things in a way I'd never considered."

"He changed our lives, made us feel like we're _worth_ something – like we're **wanted**." Stephan said, speaking for the tearful girls.

" _He saved my life_." Newt said painfully, his voice cracking on the words. Silence fell after the admission, lasting long enough that Gally completed his task and turned to offer the chisel and knife to their leader, for the final stroke. Alby took them in one hand, reaching out and laying his other flat on the freshly carved name.

"He made me a better leader. A _stronger_ leader. He taught me... **.so** much, in so little time..."

He pulled his hand back and solemnly gouged a line through the man's name.

"And I'll – we'll – never forget him. Goodbye, Adrian."

The small gathering dispersed, each boy heading back to his individual bunk. Life would go on, as it always did. Adrian wasn't the first one to be lost, and he wouldn't be the last. But while his presence had been fleeting, his ideas and teachings, his impact, lingered in the glade for a long, long time.

* * *

Author's note ~

The song in this chapter is _**Say Something**_ by **A Great Big World ft. Christina Aguilera**

Whew! After a year's worth of work, this story finally draws to a close. An epilogue will go up in about a week.

See you in the next - and final - chapter!

~Ruby


	52. Into The Dark

Author's note ~ The final update, the last hurrah. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The dank, musty smell of rusted metal swallowed him, causing his stomach to pinch and roll with nausea. The awful wailing rumble of the box as it descended down, down, down into the black depths made his ears ring and his head pound in harmony with the incessant clattering. Ever twenty or thirty feet the box would hit a flaw in the track, and the inevitable bobble and jerk sent a jolt through his back and shoulders, forced into an unnatural position by the restraints that locked him in place.

In short, the trip down was every bit as much fun as the trip up had been, and he remembered the majority of that with perfect clarity.

Hours passed in the perpetually moving darkness, his heart beating painfully fast in fearful anticipation of what lay at the bottom of the endless shaft. Eventually he closed his eyes and made himself go slack, his body sagging against the shackles as the box continued its downward journey. After what felt like a full lifetime the box screeched and came to a bone jarring stop, hydraulic pistons hissing angrily as all motion ceased.

He'd arrived.

Adrian stayed limp, keeping his eyes closed and playing dead, waiting for the distracting disorientation and vertigo that swirled in his head to ease. The sudden silence made his ears ring and ache but, as they cleared he could hear the low murmuring chatter of excited worker bees just on the other side of his mobile prison cell. He listened closely.

"I've never seen reactions like this – the patterns are totally _unique_."

"No death to date has _ever_ echoed through the group like this – _I wonder..._ if we enact a similar variable with group B, will we see results that are similar, or vastly different?"

"Re-enacting the variable would be incredibly difficult – perhaps impossible. We'd have to procure a comparable subject, **with** comparatively similar knowledge and expertise. The chances of that are incredibly slim. Pity we can't use _this_ subject again, introduce him to group B, gather the resulting data."

A chorus of mutters and amused snorts left no doubt as to the group's feelings about that concept.

"You know why we can't. Besides, _this one's_ achieved the full limits of his usefulness as an inserted agent – we've gathered every possible reaction, mapped the patterns, catalogued and entered the data. He's outlived his purpose in regards to the test groups; every pattern reached plateau and held steady until the recall was enacted. This variable has reached the expiration date – there's nothing left to gain from interactions between him and the other subjects."

"Any progress on acquiring the other potential testees? The other male, at the very least? We'd be unable to achieve any kind of accuracy in our results without direct comparison to a physiologically adequate control."

"Janson has a lead on that – with any _luck_ , we'll have access to the subjects we need within the week."

A fluttering grumble of wordless complaint.

"I _hate_ putting a project on hold. Ah well, I suppose we have no choice. In the grand scheme of things, _really_ , what's one more week? Better get out of the way, the guards are here to collect him."

The voices faded out with the sound of many feet strolling away. Though his attention was intensely focused on the chatter in his desperation to pick up any further information, all he could make out was a half-hearted complaint about a boyfriend and an apathetic speculation about what the cafeteria would be serving for dinner that night. The voices dissipated completely before he heard the metal grate squeal as it was heaved open, and the almost cheerful clink of something hitting the floor of the box before the steady, echoing sound of boots thudded down a ladder and approached fearlessly. Fingers pressed into his throat, confirming his pulse. He heard a heavy sigh.

"He's out – faint'd on the trip down. I keep _tellin'_ those sciencey sorts, **four** hours is plen'y, stretchin' it to six is _pointless_. And it's killin' my back. Gimme a hand 'ere, Greg."

It took considerable force of will not to react when he felt those hands on his head, forcing his face upward and peeling one eyelid up to check for a response. All he could see with his intentionally unfocused gaze was a blur of industrial lighting and the blocky shape of the guard who was manhandling him before his lid was released and he was once again blind. Another set of boot steps, followed by a somewhat nervous voice.

"You sure he's out, Marco? I saw the footage of when they finally took him down – I don't want to end up like _those_ guys."

"Yeah, he's out."

"You're _**sure?**_ I mean, we _could_ get the med unit to drop off a tranq, hit him with it before we take the chains off. Just to, _you know_ , play things safe."

"For _**God's sake**_ , Greg," The first guard growled, exasperated. "Just get your ass _over 'ere._ The med wing's still up to their eyeballs dealin' with the aftermath from that damn outbreak, workin' pretty much 24-7 to catch up on the mandatory testin' order'd by Page. If we call for a tranq we'll be stuck babysittin' this poor bastard for _hours_ until they send some twitchy intern over with the drugs. Or, you can stop bein' a **baby** , get over 'ere and help me haul his ass out, and we'll be off the clock in _'alf an hour._ Do you **know** how **long** I been **doin' this?** I'm _tellin_ ' you, he's _ **out**_. I ain't gonna waste _my time_ watchin' him nap when I could be kickin' back with a _beer_ in my _hand_."

"I just think..."

"You think? _**You think?!**_ Wick'ds not payin' you to _think!_ "

The impatient man in front of him lashed out unexpectedly, back handing him across the face so hard it rocked his head to the side. Despite the shock and the pain Adrian kept his muscles slack and let his body roll with the blow, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and even. He knew he'd only get one shot, and it would take more than a little pain for him blow it.

Even if he could feel the fiery burn of a split lip and the lazy, thick flow of blood that dripped from it.

When the prisoner didn't respond Marco slapped him again, then a third time, even standing with a grunt and planting a couple of good solid kicks to Adrian's mid section, an act all but guaranteed to bring on a retch in a conscious man. Marco turned to speak with his partner.

" **Still** think he's gonna jump up and bite you?" Marco sneered, kicking Adrian's scuffed boot gently in a mocking way, obviously not pleased to have his edict questioned. "Let's get 'er done."

Without waiting for a response Marco reached down and unbuckled the leather strap around Adrian's neck, his head flopping lifelessly onto his chest without the support. Working together the guards removed the stiff metal cuffs and hoisted the limp man up the ladder, grunting and cursing at his dead weight. They dropped him in a heap on the cold concrete floor above, Greg standing by nervously with a foot planted on his back while Marco went to retrieve a rolling stretcher, bringing it over and efficiently undoing the many straps and restraints that crossed the hard, lumpy cushion. Satisfied, he bent down and hauled the man up by the armpits; Greg scrambled to get the legs but had only lifted them a few inches before he released his grip and stepped away.

"You missed half the damn straps." He muttered, disgusted at the sloppy effort, rounding the stretcher to unfasten the rest himself.

"What does it _matter?_ He won't be wakin' up any time soon." Marco shot back, rolling his eyes as he shifted his grip on Adrian, pulling one floppy arm around his neck for support, unwilling to put the effort in to haul him up off the floor again. "Hurry up, will you, this guy's no 80 pound kid."

"Give a minute, dammit."

"At least he didn't piss hisself on the way down." Marco snickered cruelly, shifting on his feet a little. "Though it's kinda funny to see all those _**stupid kids**_ – "

With the guards separated and both distracted, this was exactly the moment Adrian had been waiting – and hoping – for.

Adrian's arm closed like a vise over Marco's throat, instantly cutting off both his ugly words and his air supply. Planting his feet firmly beneath him, he silenced Marco permanently with one quick wrench of his hands, snapping the guard's neck. Running a hand down the side of the body, he quickly located and liberated a standard issue side arm – not the best, but workable. He dropped the body at his feet and turned to face the second guard.

" _F-f-f-freeze_." Greg stuttered, his hands shaking, his launcher pointed directly at Adrian. He had a crop of carrot orange hair, a face full of pale golden freckles, and probably hadn't seen his 20th birthday yet. Looking at him, his face still chubby with baby fat, Adrian couldn't find it in himself to kill the poor boy.

"You don't want to do this, Greg."

He kept his voice calm and reasonable but the boy jerked back as if he'd been struck, his gun jiggling back and forth erratically. Adrian was pretty sure the chances of the kid actually hitting him if he squeezed the trigger were iffy at best.

"You've got orders, I get that. But I'm afraid I won't be going quietly; I can't let you take me. And I'd really rather not hurt you. Do us both a favor here. Drop your weapon."

No response, save for the chattering of Greg's teeth and the knocking of his knees. Adrian tried again.

"If you fire at me, if you try to stop me, I'll have no choice but to kill you where you stand. This little pistol is more than up to the task, and I'm an excellent shot. Don't make me kill you, kid. Drop the launcher and I'll walk away, we _ **both**_ will. You have my word."

Greg stared at him, raw fear rolling off him in waves, indecision in his eyes. Adrian was steeling himself to the idea that he'd have no choice but to fire when the young guard flung his weapon away, dropping to his knees and gripping his head in his hands.

" _D-don't k-kill me!_ " He all but sobbed, shaking like a leaf as Adrian quickly stepped around behind him.

"Easy there Greg, I'm not going to kill you." Adrian assured, swiftly lifting his gun and bringing it down with exquisite control on the back of the boy's head, knocking him unconscious. "But you are going to have one _**hell**_ of a headache when you wake up. Sorry 'bout that."

Adrian took the time to retrieve Greg's launcher from where it had flown, knowing it would come in handy, before stepping over the body of the older guard and making for the nearest hallway. Slinking along as best he could, he encountered and killed three more stray guards that had the bad luck of stumbling across him alone, adding a second launcher and two combat knives to his growing collection.

He felt no guilt over their deaths – given the chance, any one of them would put him down, cart him away and lock him up so that the powers that be could get their jollies through torturing him.

No, he had no intentions of being taken alive.

After some time he found a smallish conference room with no additional windows or exits and slipped inside, figuring it was as good a place as any for his last stand, and quickly secured it by barricading the door with furniture. Making himself comfortable in the furthest corner, the knives in his belt and the launchers within easy reach, he held the small firearm loosely in his lap. Pulling out his music player he plugged one ear in, leaving the other free in case anyone decided to come knocking. He ran his thumb over the familiar, worn metal of the little device; his most prized possession, his constant companion.

His oldest friend.

He closed his eyes and hit the play button, the song he'd already queued up quietly coming to life.

.

 _All around me are familiar faces_

 _Worn out places, worn out faces_

 _Bright and early for their daily races_

 _Going nowhere, going nowhere_

 _Their tears are filling up their glasses_

 _No expression, no expression_

 _Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow_

 _No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

 _._

He thought of his family, his friends.

All the gladers.

Alby.

Newt.

He lifted the gun.

.

 _And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad_

 _The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

 _I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take_

 _When people run in circles it's a very very_

 _Mad world_

 _Mad world_

 _._

He took several deep breaths, calming his mind, trying to relax his body.

 _This is it,_ he thought peacefully, _I've_ _won._

"I'd rethink that, if I were you."

A cool, sleazy voice oozed through the built in intercom speakers. Adrian knew full well that his movements had been caught by the security cameras, and now understood that the establishment had a visual on him even now. He knew his window of opportunity would be extremely brief. Still, he couldn't stop himself from responding.

"Or?" He said archly, pressing the cold metal barrel against his temple. "Any particular reason you'd think I'd hang around and play your twisted little game?"

A different voice played over the speaker now; an achingly familiar voice, made young by fear and horror.

"A-Adrian?! _**Adrian!**_ "

Adrian's blood turned to ice; he felt the pain of it right down to the marrow of his bones.

 _Oh God, oh God, oh God! They were supposed to send her into the maze! Why the hell didn't they send her into the maze?!_

"God _damn_ it Janson! I swear I'll find you and pull your guts out through your nose if you touch her!"

The voice started screaming, high, soul tearing wails of fear and pain. Realizing he needed a different tactic, Adrian cocked the trigger of the gun and pressed it more firmly into his skin.

"You want what's in _my_ head? Good luck piecing it together from the smears on the wall!"

The screams cut off suddenly, leaving a throbbing silence in their place. For ten full seconds they stood at an impasse, then Janson's voice once again flowed slyly through the room.

"If you die, who's here to protect her? And why would we _kill_ her, when she can still be so useful to us? Thinking about it though, it's her brain patterns that are most valuable; she doesn't really _need_ her toes. Or her fingers, her eyes. Her legs. As long as her heart's beating and her synapses firing, everything else is just _window dressing,_ isn't it?"

"I **swear** Janson, **I'll –** "

"You'll _what?_ I find it terribly difficult to take a dead man's threats _seriously_."

The barricade over the door rattled violently, the piled furniture shivering as the sound of crashing blows resonated through the small space, voices raised as the guards on the other side started breaking their way in. He had two minutes – at most – to decide the best course of action.

"If you want her to stay in one piece, you'll have to give me something in return." Janson crooned. "An eye for an eye, so to speak – surrender, come _quietly_ , and I'll let her keep hers. Otherwise...I doubt they'll be able to fill an ice cream bucket with what's **left** of her before I'm done."

Adrian grit his teeth, struggling not to scream out the string of obscenities that danced on his tongue. With his face a mask of the blackest rage he pushed to his feet, stepping away from the launchers on the floor. He pulled the knives out of his belt, tossing them angrily into the corner of the room. Left with only the small gun in his hand, he knew there was no way he could defend himself against however many guards waited outside the door for him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Toss the gun – we both know you don't really have the guts to use it anyway."

Adrian thought of the rest of his family, of the people depending on him.

He thought of Maddy.

He tossed the gun.

"Good boy. Now, put your hands on your head."

Adrian complied bitterly, watching as his hastily built block collapsed, chairs and tables flying in every direction. Unarmed, cornered, trapped by his own burning need to protect the one he loved most, he was completely defenseless. The guards flooding into the room, having followed the path of bodies he'd left behind, left nothing to chance this time. The first one through the door hit him center mass with a paralyzing bolt from his launcher, electricity snapping around his body and burning like a lava flow.

Unable to control his muscles, blinded by the pain, he crumpled helplessly to the ground.

The rest of the guards, heavily armored and sporting an impressive array of weapons, surrounded him with their launchers drawn. They stayed just far enough back to avoid touching his twitching body, seasoned enough to wait for the blue-white wisps of electrical current to dissipate before attempting to restrain him.

When the shock began to ease and Adrian lay panting, he forced himself to speak through a rigidly clenched jaw.

"Was that strictly speaking necessary?"

"Oh, no, not at all." One of his captors replied in a dangerously cheerful voice before aiming his own weapon at the immobile figure on the floor and discharging another round, making Adrian's body writhe and twitch erratically to a chorus of laughter from the other guards. "Consider it a little gift, courtesy of the men you left dead on the floor outside."

They hit him again, and again, laughing, cheering as the agony ripped through him until he mercifully blacked out.

* * *

He woke feeling like he'd had a two ton truck parked on his chest for a week. Barely swallowing a groan, he rolled off his back and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He was wearing a loose linen shirt and pants and, while they were clean, he detested knowing that some stranger had been handling his body when he was unconscious. He looked around at his surroundings, taking in the stark white of the room, the spongy floor and obviously padded walls. There wasn't a right angle or a hard surface anywhere in sight.

He knew exactly where he was.

"Welcome back."

Adrian painfully tucked a leg underneath himself and flopped gracelessly into a heap on the soft floor, looking over at the previously unoccupied corner of the room. Sitting calmly in a plain wooden chair was none other than Janson himself.

He wanted so badly to rush over, to take the foul creature by the neck and squeeze the life out of him, to permanently wipe that greasy smirk off his face.

Unfortunately, he'd played this game once before; there was no way that Janson would ever risk sitting in such a vulnerable position in the presence of a hostile prisoner. If he charged at the weasel now, best case scenario was that he would run face first into a transparent barrier; an invisible wall made of pure force. He'd be damned if he'd give Janson the satisfaction.

"Love what you've done with the place." He muttered drily, watching his tormentor, knowing full well how to play the game.

Janson ignored the comment, letting the silence stretch out for several minutes in a bid to establish his dominance. Adrian was having none of it and went through the motions of stifling a yawn before speaking again, boredom in his voice.

"Could you make this quick? I'd really like to get a nap in before the festivities start."

Janson's nostrils flared at the remark but he tried for a winning smile, pasting what might pass as camaraderie and respect on his face before speaking.

"I must say, you've performed _magnificently_ , far better than we could have hoped. Your cooperation in this has been really quite illuminating. Now, I know some of the the others are still holding a grudge over the many, many guards you've... _disabled_ , both before and after your time in the maze."

Adrian watched him without comment. Janson held both hands up in a what-can-you-do kind of gesture.

"What's a dozen lives between friends, eh? I'm sure we can find some kind of compromise, some way to make amends and let bygones be bygones. Say, if you were to give me the information I need, why, we'd really have no further need for you, would we? I could even explore the _possibility_ of getting you out of here, setting you free. Isn't that what you want, to go back to your family? I can only _imagine_ how worried they must be right about now."

Adrian let out a huff of breath, bringing his knees up towards his chest and lying back, tucking his hands under his head.

"If you're going to keep beating **that** old drum, maybe I'll take that nap after all."

Janson's face twitched, his voice turning ugly.

"Of course, there's always **other** ways of getting the information we seek. If you're not in a sharing kind of mood, if you decide to _ignore_ common sense and _refuse_ to tell us what we want to know, perhaps young Madison – "

"If you look at her, touch her again, I'll bite off my own tongue." Adrian said quietly, calm and deadly serious. "Even if you get the medics here in time and by some miracle I don't bleed out...I'll find a way, sooner or later. You know how resourceful I am. You might as well kill me now, Janson, and get it over with. You'll never get what you want."

"Really?" The sly faced man said softly, pulling a mini holo projector out of his pocket and holding it out. When he clicked it on, a small transparent image of Adrian flickering to life.

" _Hey guys. Long time no see. I have to believe you'll find this message, sooner or later. I wish I could be there in person, but things...went a little astray. And I don't have much time. I wish I could just tell you what I found myself, say it all out loud, but just in case this ends up in the wrong hands..."_

Adrian closed his eyes, his body tensed. He didn't need to look over to see the message that showed clear as day on the recording.

.

0?! :x9 7 3x?!3/

5*Uq1 x6 qxqxU*9.

91!k! 91!/ 7k! 733

.97U20U: 0U 7 kx-

.

He listened to his own voice playing back, trying not to react.

" _If you know me, you'll know how to crack the code. Follow the directions, and you'll find the piece we've been missing. I love you. Goodbye."_

Janson clicked off the projector with a self satisfied flick of his thumb, tossing it in the air and catching it, again and again until Adrian addressed him.

"So you found it. Obviously you're already working on cracking it. If you have that, what do you need me for?"

"As I said, you have information that we would find valuable. Including the key to the little message you've written here, and perhaps a little clarification."

Adrian snorted.

"If you can't crack a code it took me ten minutes to write...Well, then again, I've seen your little _experiment_ first hand. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've stooped to such ridiculous lows in the name of research, if the best you can find are these cretins. You've had me for what, twenty four hours? Maybe as long as thirty six? And they haven't broken it yet? Where the hell did you dig up these neanderthals?"

"You'll give me the key." Janson snapped, out of patience. "Do it now, willingly, or I'll see to it that they pry it out of you." Adrian just laughed hollowly at the desperate threat.

"Beat me, burn me, break my body; it doesn't matter, I'll never give you what you ask. Good luck getting there on your own. With your current resources it might take you a year or two, but I'm sure you'll get there. Eventually."

"Is that your final answer?" Janson hissed. "Is there nothing you want, nothing that could...persuade you to work with us?"

There was only one thing he wanted, one thing that mattered. Adrian thought for a long moment, contemplating the best route to achieve it. In the end, he decided to take the simplest – and most effective – path. He challenged Janson's ego.

"What do you say to a little wager?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Two weeks. Give me your best shot for two weeks. Anytime I fold, any punishment I can't take, I'll give you part of the key. If I make it to the end of two weeks without giving you the full key, you send Maddy..." He swallowed quietly, his throat burning. He forced the words out. "You send Maddy into the maze to join the others in group B."

"And _**why**_ should I send her up, agree to your terms?"

"If I win, I'll...I'll complete the key when I've seen proof that she's been inserted. If I don't...you'll still have both of us. There's no win-win here." He said bitterly. "You'll be getting your prize either way."

Janson considered this, tilting his head from side to side as he thought about the potential gain.

"Alright. _Say_ I take your bet. If my men haven't completed the key – or decoded the message – in two weeks, I send your little sister up. I'll even be generous enough to let you see her start her journey. How do I know you'll hold up **your** end of the deal?"

"You have my word. It's something I rarely give, and have never broken."

Janson made a skeptical noise deep down in his throat, but the pot was too sweet to resist.

"You're on. Two weeks, starting today."

Adrian bit back a triumphant smile, a smirk coming across in his voice.

"Good luck, Janson. Do your worst."

Janson smiled as if he didn't have a care in the world, his image shimmering and disappearing from the room, his last sentiment leaving a malicious smear on the air.

"It'll be my _pleasure_."

* * *

Four days into the bet and Adrian still hadn't yielded a since piece of the key. They'd beaten him savagely for hours, splintered his ribs, cracked his eye socket. He'd kept his silence for the most part, the only sound escaping his lips was his wheezing gasps for air as they pummeled his body. He'd swallowed back the cries of pain when they crushed all of the fingers on his right hand, weakening only enough to let out a low keening moan as hard boots destroyed his dominant appendage. Every night after working on him they would toss his damaged body back into the padded room and leave him in complete solitude until they came for him again.

They withheld all food, sending in only small amounts of water to keep him from total dehydration. His lips cracked and bled, his head spun dizzily, but he did not yield.

After a fifth day, after what had felt like years of being chained to a frame and whipped until the skin on his back hung in bloody shreds, they once again dropped him on the floor of his cell. Once a pure snowy white, it was now painted with streaks and splotches of rusty red. Before the guards could exit, he looked up to the security camera and smiled through bloody teeth.

"You know, if I die from starvation I'll end up winning the bet by default."

That night, magically, a soft plastic tray with a small portion of bland gruel was pushed through the slot in the door.

More days passed. To keep them from blurring together he counted the mealtimes, using them to keep track of how many more days he had to endure. Every couple of hours, they would try a new method.

He was burned with red hot branding irons. He was hit with electrical shocks, the wands leaving charred, blackened circles on his skin. He was waterboarded, his lungs crumpling like old paper bags as they strained against his splintered ribs in a desperate attempt for air.

Twice his system tried to shut down and a medical crew that stood on standby had to rush in to restart his heart, to pump adrenaline into his veins to keep his body from succumbing to shock. They would perform enough medical magic to put his shattered form back together, with the only intention being that he could live to suffer another day.

And still, he did not yield.

Even with his body in tatters his mind remained remarkably clear. He noticed that he could see a little through the slot that admitted his nightly meal, and was quickly able to determine that the same hand fed him every night. A pale, slightly freckled hand, smallish in size. Unlined, no visible scars.

Young.

After a miserable day of being shackled in a room full of monstrous, slimy grievers, their blades whirring and clicking, the serrated edges touching him just enough to tear his skin to shreds, he sat painfully and waited for his meal. When the slot clinked up and the tray appeared, he croaked out a greeting.

"Hey Greg. How's the head?"

The hand jerked, dropping the tray so that it slid drunkenly across the floor. He heard a gasp from the other side of the door and very nearly smiled.

He'd thought that hand looked familiar.

He took to talking to the young guard in the evenings, breezily holding a one-sided conversations with the unseen boy, never receiving a response. Still, it made him feel less alone, and as he was careful to never share anything other than banal small talk there was no harm in it.

More beatings. More shock treatment. They seemed to be running out of ideas.

Until they bolted him to a rough stand in a room with dingy red lighting and closed him in with five very large, very angry guards. He heard the jungle of a buckle being undone and closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth as a large sweaty hand gripped the waistband of his pants.

In hour five of the rape even his enviable control had frayed to shreds, and he couldn't stop the hoarse screams that pain tore from his throat.

After two full days of being violently violated he cracked. He screamed the first piece of the key, giving them one letter to put into the code.

Encouraged, the workers inserted it into the gibberish of the message. Unfortunately, it only kept company with one other letter they'd managed to discern – no where near enough for them to start taking educated guesses at what the message might say.

Delighted by the success, Janson was quick to pat himself on the back for finally finding a method that loosened the man's incredibly stubborn tongue. Until a guard swaggered into Adrian's room to retrieve him for another day in the red room – and hopefully another piece of the puzzle – only to find him unconscious on the floor, his last meal untouched, his body burning with fever.

The medics had to put in many long hours to stabilize him as his body threatened to shut down for good, septic shock rampaging in his system. When they were satisfied that he'd survive they tossed him back in his cell, erring on the side of caution and giving him the rest of the night off in hopes that his strength would return while they worked on a new tactic.

Surfacing in agony, his muddled mind tried to take inventory of his battered body.

The pain was obscene, so constant now that it was difficult to discern exactly where one injury ended and the next began. And he was weak, very, very weak, his muscles shriveling from lack of use and proper nutrition.

The worst of it, though, was that he couldn't remember if he had to survive for another four days or five.

When the slot in the door opened to deliver his evening meal he wasn't physically able to walk over and get it. Forced to crawl, he made it to within three feet of the door before he collapsed in a heap. Nausea churned in his stomach; if there'd been anything left in it, he was sure he'd have lost it all over the floor. Shaking, barely clinging to consciousness, he forced a whisper through broken and aching teeth.

"Sorry Greg, I don't...I don't think I can muster up an appetite tonight."

As always, there was no reply from the other side of the door. Adrian closed his eyes, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"I doubt I could even swallow anything right now. I might be able to manage little jello, _might_ , but that's not on the menu. Thanks anyways."

The slot scraped open again, the pale hand darting in fearfully and snagging the untouched tray, quickly dragging it out of the room. Unable to move, and with one bit of the floor being as comfortable as any other, he fell into a fitful, haunted sleep.

Nightmares plagued him, as they had every night since his return from the glade. His waking mind accepted it, even as his slumbering self trembled and tensed and fought the painful images. An indeterminate amount of time later he was pulled from the ugly dreams by the familiar clank of the food slot opening. A small plastic container was hastily stuffed through the opening. Confused, still half caught between asleep and awake, he reached out a hand and pulled the object close enough for his eyes to focus on.

It was an individual lime jello cup, complete with a floppy disposable spoon. Even the weak chuckle hurt, pain cascading through his ribs and abdomen, but it was the first real laugh he'd had, the first real speck of kindness he'd seen since the box had brought him down.

"Much gratitude, Greg. Really. Thank you." He whispered, peeling the plastic lid off the container and bringing the spoon to his mouth with a wobbly hand. It took him almost half an hour to eat the tiny portion of jello but, thankfully, the lightly sweeted gelatin helped to settle his queasy gut. He dutifully placed the refuse close to the slot and painfully tried to shuffle back a little so the guard could retrieve it, which he did with a lightning quick grab.

"You don't have to be afraid of me." Adrian asserted wiggling and shifting, trying to find a mostly bearable position. He squirmed and shifted before finally giving up, laying spread eagle on the spongy surface.

He knew Greg always left swiftly after delivering his meals and assumed that tonight was no different; while he hadn't heard the young guard's departure, he chalked it up to the fog of pain and exhaustion that danced in his head. Weary, bereft, tired to the bone, he closed his eyes. Believing himself to be fully alone he let the hot, bitter tears come, covering his face with an arm in a bid for some small measure of privacy. His breathing thickened and he sniffled once or twice but otherwise he made no sound, not wanting to give those in charge of monitoring his room the satisfaction of seeing his misery. The words came out so quietly they were more a thought than speech, and far too quiet to register on the recording equipment.

"Christ I wish I could just cut my throat and be done with it."

Another pair of ears heard his earnest, broken words.

Greg had no idea why he felt anything other than contempt for the prisoner, especially considering the sizable goose egg he'd nursed for days after the man's attempted escape. Yet over the last week as he watched the once strong figure erode he'd felt only a great stirring of pity, and found he had a nagging urge to offer the man some small bit of comfort. Even if it was only something as simple as running down to the cafeteria and stealing a cheap dessert when the man couldn't handle real food. While he feared what the directors might do should they discover his minor divergence, if he were honest, he could admit to himself that he'd most probably do it again. After he'd collected the garbage and stuffed it in a pocket of his uniform he noticed the unusual silence from his charge; usually after a meal the man tried to strike up a conversation, trying night after night despite his audience's continued refusal to participate. His found his curiosity piqued and couldn't bring himself to walk away.

He put his back to the wall beside the door and sat, using a finger to crack the delivery slot just a hair so that he could better hear what was going on.

He heard the crying. Heard the near silent lament, the unspoken plea wrapped in desolation. Though the words were not meant for him, this time he couldn't stop himself from replying. Looking back and forth to make sure the coast was clear, he crossed his arms on his knees so that the surveillance cameras couldn't see him speak.

"Why haven't you?' He whispered, sure the man wouldn't be able to hear him.

"They have my sister. I can't...I can't leave her to them. They'll...I can't let that happen." Again, so incredibly quiet that it wouldn't register in the system.

The answer stunned the young guard – all this time, he'd never stopped to consider that there may be a tangible reason that Adrian had fought so hard. When he was given orders, his superiors didn't waste time giving him details or background; they told him where he was expected to be, and he went.

"Why did...why didn't you kill me?"

"I find no pleasure in taking lives. I avoid it if I can. You're young, healthy. You have nothing but time left ahead of you. I looked at you and I saw so much fear, so much potential. So much hope."

"They're going to do worse than kill you, you know." Greg found himself saying, not really sure why the words left his lips. "The science sorts are already talking – they all know you're not immune. I heard some of them talking in the cafeteria the other day; something about infecting you, observing as the flare takes you, and dissecting whatever's left. You'd be better off taking that knife."

"I can't. Not yet. I have to make...make sure she's...safe first."

A long pause as Greg tried to absorb that, as he tried to understand how one person could endure so much, withstand so much pain to protect another. He felt a welling in his own eyes at the thought.

"How...how many...days have I...been here?" The question was broken, starting to slur.

"Twelve since you...ran from the box. Eleven in this room."

"Three...more days. I can...make it...three more...days."

Marveling at the determination in the scratchy, barely audible voice, Greg sat in the silence that fell and did some long, hard thinking.

* * *

Aware that his body was at the limit, the guards switched their tactics, moving away from physical to torture and exploring other options. When they came to retrieve him the next day they handled him far more gently, shackling him into a chair and restrained his head and taping his eyes open. They forced him to watch hour upon hour of the most horrific video footage they could find, trying to find a way to shatter his spirit. When that failed to elicit a response they showed him looping feed from the cameras in the glade, playing Newt's jump from the walls over and over again, complete with the vocal recordings.

Tears ran from his eyes and his heart, but he refused to let the images break him.

Over the next two days they continued to hit him harder and harder, alternately showing him videos of the most heinous, unthinkable acts committed by those lost to the Flare and blasting him with a high pitched intermittent audio assault that drove an ice pick of pain into his skull. As the two weeks finally crawled to an excruciating close, his ears were bleeding and every inch of his body was agony, but he'd only yielded one letter of the key to his message.

Janson was forced to admit defeat.

His best minds had only deciphered two additional letters of the message, which now read;

.

0?! :x9 **A** **L** x?! **L** /

5*U **C** 1 x6 **C** x **C** xU*9.

91!k! 91!/ **A** k! **ALL**

.97U20U: 0U **A** kx-

.

He begrudgingly ordered the prep team to take the steps necessary to insert Madison into the maze with test group B, demanding that they have her ready to go by that very evening and sending the workers into a mad scramble in an attempt to comply. He was determined to get the completed key before the day was out, certain that the information would be worth the loss of leverage against the man.

After all, he wasn't immune. Once they'd extracted the information, there was no further need for his brain. Well, not the way it currently was, anyhow.

A small contingent of guards arrived at Adrian's cell that evening to escort him to the observation room; he was to observe Madison's insertion, just as Janson had promised. It took two of them to haul him upright and support his weight, as his legs no longer had the strength to hold him up. The guard on his right was unfamiliar, just one more anonymous face in the ill tempered crowd. He hissed when the man roughly grabbed his broken hand to pull him up.

The guard on his left was Greg. Pale and sickly looking, there was a tiny light of...something in his eyes. Greg's hands were far more gentle, one arm going around Adrian's wasted form lightly as the other drew the man's hand upward to loop it around his neck...

Adrian felt the distinctive shape of a small pistol tucked under Greg's belt and concealed by his shirt; the boy intentionally allowed the man's fingers to brush up against it as he pulled the weak arm up and around his shoulders. Adrian let his head loll slightly towards the young guard, and Greg managed a tiny whisper into his ear before he nudged him away.

"Whenever you're ready."

A great welling of relief washed into the man, and a burning gratitude.

One way or another, things ended today.

The guards kept a tight circle around him even after they'd deposited him in a chair in the observation room, Janson standing well back and out of range. He smirked triumphantly at the battered husk that was all that remained of the rebellious man.

"Well Adrian? Here we are, just as you've asked. Your sister is being inserted as we speak."

"Looks like I won." Adrian coughed, a whisper of a grin on his face.

"Yes, yes, _well done_. How valiant, how courageous of you. _Etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam_. But there's **one** small thing you still owe me – the key to your _little puzzle_. As you can see, I'm a man of my word; I've kept up **my** end of the bargain. _Give me_ _ **the key.**_ "

Adrian stared at the screens, eyes glued to the shivering form of his youngest sibling as she curled into a ball in the corner of the box. He thought painfully of the boys he'd left behind in the glade.

"Get me a pen and paper. As long as I get to see her reception, it's yours."

He was given writing supplies and, slowly, with great difficulty, scratched out a shaky list with his left hand before passing it over his shoulder to the all but impatiently waiting man. Janson carried it out of the room himself, running in his haste, his desperate need to know. Adrian knew he had only ten or fifteen minutes until the man returned and, mustering his strength, pushed himself up with trembling arms and staggered drunkenly to his feet. He clumsily put one foot in front of the other in an attempt to lurch closer to the screens, nearly falling when his legs gave out.

The guards simultaneously drew their weapons – all except Greg, who stepped in and caught Adrian around the midsection before he could fall. He slung his left arm around the young guard's waist for support and, never taking his eyes off the screen, gently placed his shattered right hand on the one that showed the best image of his beloved sister, reaching out to touch her face one last time.

"I'm sorry Maddy. This is the best I could do. I'm _sorry_."

Despite the uncaring audience, despite the damage to his throat that had all but destroyed his voice, despite her inability to hear him, this would be his only chance to say goodbye. He softly sang a few bars of her favorite song, hoping it she would somehow know and that it would be able to comfort her, one last time..

.

 _You and me we've seen everything to see_

 _From Bangkok to Calgary and the soles of your shoes_

 _Are all worn down_

 _The time for sleep is now_

 _But it's nothing to cry about_

 _'Cause we'll hold each other soon_

 _In the blackest of rooms_

.

 _If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied_

 _And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs_

 _If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks_

 _Then I'll follow you into the dark_

.

 _I'll follow you into the dark_

.

Janson burst back into the room, absolutely livid, his face flushed red.

"What the hell is the **meaning** of this? What is this _**garbage?!**_ " He screamed, his voice almost high enough to shatter glass. Adrian lowered his head until his lank, greasy bangs covered his eyes, a grin working its way across his face. He took one last deep breath, satisfaction sweet on his tongue.

"Oh, I think you can figure it out."

With everything he had left, pouring every last drop of strength into speed, he gripped the handle of the pistol in his left hand and elbowed Greg hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. Quick as a flash, he stuck the barrel in his mouth. Time stopped, milliseconds stretching to hours like a piece of softened taffy, his last thoughts blessedly clear.

 _You want to study_ _ **my**_ _brain? By all means, be my guest._

He pulled the trigger. An explosion of gore and grey matter coated the video monitors, the stunned guards, Janson. Adrian's body fell, the pistol tumbling from his lifeless fingers and clattering to the floor, sliding through the gruesome mess before coming to a rest beside the piece of paper that had slipped from Janson's hands in shock. A red stain bloomed and spread on the sheet that held both Adrian's key and a scribbled copy of the decoded message.

 **IVE GOT A LOVELY**

 **BUNCH OF COCONUTS**

 **THERE THEY ARE ALL**

 **STANDING IN A ROW  
**

Even in death Adrian had found a way to have the final word.

* * *

In the lush green grass of a thriving field a badly limping blonde boy on a crude set of wooden crutches stumbled, his good leg abruptly giving out on him. If it weren't for the sturdy friend beside him, he would have ended up on his face.

"What? What's wrong?" Alby demanded, his strong hands steadying the suddenly pale boy.

"No, it's nothing." Newt assured, swiping at the sudden dew of sweat on his face. "Just...just felt a little sick for a minute there. Really, it's nothing. I'm fine now."

Alby eyed Newt coolly for a minute before shrugging it off and carrying on, Newt quickly falling into step beside him. They continued on their way, both putting the fleeting moment out of their minds.

With so many depending on them, they had more important things to worry about.

* * *

Author's note ~

Songs in order of appearance;

Mad World by Gary Jules

I'll Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab For Cutie

I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts originally by Fred Heatherton

Whew! I've been working on this story for a full year; this is the longest project I've ever attempted, and today it finally comes to an end. Endless hours of writing, revising, editing and nitpicking, lost sleep and tension headaches, and it all boils down to this.

To anyone who's been with me from the beginning, and to everyone who saw me to the end; thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

~Ruby


End file.
